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ECHOES OF MEMORY 




Luman A. Ballou. 



ECHOES OF MEMORY 



BY 

LUMAN A. BALLOU 



ILLUSTRATED 




NEW YORK 

FLEMING H. REVELL PRESS 
1918 



Copyright, 1918, by 
LUMAN A. BALLOT] 






\V" 



New York: .158 Fifth Avenue 
Chicago : 17 North Wabash Ave. 
London: 21 Paternoster Square 
Edinburgh: 75 Princes Street 



MAR 28 1919 

©CI,A512830 



LOVINGLY DEDICATED 

TO 

MY CEILDBEN. 



PREFACE 

IN regard to this, my second book of poems, 
ECHOES OF MEMORY, I will say, It is 
an own sister to my former book, WAY- 
SIDE MUSINGS, although the younger may ap- 
pear to be the older, as the compositions were 
made at a more mature age of the author. 

The poems of my first book covered a period 
of years from my boyhood until my sixty-seventh 
year (a selection only of what I had produced). 
Those of ECHOES OF MEMORY, excepting 
half a dozen, have been since that time, never 
having appeared before except a few in local 
newspapers. 

I seek not, neither have I sought financial gain 
in the production of my work in book form, 
neither have I cribbed from others. I have 
rhymed simply for the pleasure it gave; if my 
friends take as much enjoyment in reading as I 
have in the writing my reward will be complete. 

My greatest object in putting verses in book 
form is for the sake of being remembered when 
I have answered the last ROLL CALL. 

And -when I've crossed that stream I've feared, 
And looking back from whence I've come, 

And know my memory is revered 

By the little good I may have done. 

For hopes deferred for which I've sighed, 

With this reward I'm satisfied. 
7 



8 PREFACE 

"Without doubt this is my last poetical en- 
deavor, although at times I may hear the flutter- 
ing wings of Pegasus as he wings his way near 
me with his alluring influence, but at my time 
of life I can have but little hope of much longer 
flirting with the MUSES. L. A. B. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A Sad Truth 84 

A Visit from Cupid 216 

A Change of Heart 28 

An Address to an Old Watering Tub 21 

Arbor Day 174 

A Polite Notice 62 

A Mild Eulogy 188 

Apropos, The Hand that Makes no Mistakes . . . 115 

Amelia 43 

Advertisement Written for Jeweler Hubbard . . 86 

Ah ! To Lie Alone, or. The Bachelor 's Soliloquy 189 

An Answer for a Forget-Me-Not Card 87 

A Woman 's Tongue 68 

A Tragedy of the Sea 206 

An Acrostic, To My Wife, Mary 36 

Batting the Bat 215 

Enconium of ' ' The Wanderer 's Bride " 170 

Friendship 113 

Grace 68 

Idle Dreamings 87 

Judson 's Vision 127 

Jack Longgo 30 

Lines for a Birthday Calendar 86 

Lines Written for a Lady Friend 37 

May 140 

Modern Grief 138 

Mortality 181 

P 



10 CONTENTS 

PAGE 

No Land of a Perfect People 23 

Nellie Nickerson 119 

On Presenting a (Dance Call) Book 124 

On Selling my Last Sheep 63 

Old Age 218 

On the Death of a Hen 176 

Of Dust Thou Art 129 

Eeply to a Letter 71 

Skilled Labor 26 

Saint Joseph 's Hospital 64 

Sing to Me, Charley, Over the Phone 29 

The Witch Stories Grandmother Told 91 

The Pigs, No. 1 92 

The Toad, No. 2 95 

The Bumblebee, No. 3 99 

The Gray Mare, No. 4 102 

The Soldier 's Eeturn 182 

The Dance at Schroggytown 211 

The Prisoner 's Daughter 72 

To Cousin Eilla 171 

The Kiss Between the Bridges 193 

The Tale of a Mouse • 167 

True Diplomacy 186 

The Ball 191 

To Mrs. Ellen Williams Ill 

Three Pretty Women 118 

The Holstein Cow 185 

That Horrid Nightmare 196 

The Nobleman 's Wedding 17 

To the Intermediate C. E. Society 167 

The Beautiful Jane 80 

The Traveling Hog 40 

The Northfield School 200 



CONTENTS 11 

PAGE 

The Englishman 's "Warning 65 

The Dance at Cleveland 132 

That Vicious Eailroad Train 121 

The Groundhog 124 

That Female Moses 89 

The Hobble Skirt 203 

Those Two Little Brynes 112 

The "Wait Station 39 

The Green Fields of America 194 

The Door Knob Friend 116 

Unhappy Candace 179 

When Is Charley Coming Home? 201 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Luman A. Ballou Frontispiece 

Author's Home, Cleveland Heights, Ohio 36 

But the Sweetest Thing My Soul can Sing is 

Sweetest Praise of Thee, My Dear 118 

As the Years Eolled on She Grew Fast and 

Pretty 146 

He Filled up His Pipe, for a Time He Sat 

Smoking 154 

And Many Blissful Years May Share and Al- 
ways be at Home 202 



13 



A SKETCH 

In 1911 Luman A. Ballou issued his first book, 
"WAYSIDE MUSINGS, and was much pleased 
with the generous reception accorded it. 

Meantime the Muse continued active, and 
many a tale has been preserved of Old English 
Days, and Old New England times in our own 
country, when witches were supposed, by some, 
to mix in our everyday affairs, in poems reem- 
bodying stories told by his grandmother in his 
impressionable years. Many a philosophic 
thought or humorous bit have taken on a poetic 
dress. 

In 1913 Mr. Ballou settled up his affairs in 
Chester, Vt., where he had lived for nearly 
twenty years, selling his home there, and moving 
to Cleveland, Ohio., or rather, to a suburb of 
that thriving city, Cleveland Heights. A long 
illness in 1914, and a severe operation in 1915 
reduced his physical condition to quite an ex- 
tent. Yet through that period, and the years 
since, many of his finest poems have been pro- 
duced. At the present time. May, 1918, he en- 
joys a vigorous old age, being nearly 74 years 
young. Surrounded by wife, children, and 
grandchildren, he has little time for brooding. 

From the humble ''log cabin" of his birth to 
a comfortable home has been a life-long dream 
come true. Naturally active, the affairs of the 
15 



16 A SKETCH 

community and Noble Eoad Presbyterian Church 
claim a share of his attention. And the life- 
long habit of the farmer and stock-dealer of 
earlier years finds an outlet in the cultivation of 
small fields, and caring for the family cow and 
horse. 

The present war is an absorbing topic for 
thought and talk, and the soldier of '61 again 
offered his services to his country in this her 
hour of need, but was told ''You're too old." 
He says his work is done along poetical lines, 
yet, we confidently expect to have other poems 
from his prolific pen. 

If "ECHOES OF MEMORY" receives as 
pleasant a welcome as WAYSIDE MUSINGS, he 
will feel amply repaid for the thought, time and 
money expended in putting this last child of his 
brain before the public, as he considers these 
books a more lasting monument to his memory 
than marble or granite, as the thoughts will live 
in the hearts of men. And as he expresses it in 
one of his poems, '* 'Tis sweet to be remem- 
bered." 

Thanking all friends who have aided by their 
sympathy and encouragement to make this a 
pleasant task, we hope they may find pleasure in 
perusing Echoes Of Memory. 

Mary A. Ballou, 



ECHOES OF MEMORY 

THE NOBLEMAN'S WEDDING. 

This song was made from a few scattered fragments 
of an old English song, not even to the extent of two 
verses, which the author (when a very small boy used 
to hear his mother sing). Though over sixty years have 
rolled between then and now, yet the old song and tune 
at times comes back floating on the tide of memory ac- 
companied with that mother's voice. 

LuMAN A. Ballou. 

LO ! here 's a story of truth it is stated, 
A scene that was laid in the years gone 
by, 

When truth was respected, and falsehood was 
hated, 
And love was as pure as a cloudless sky. 

Alas, what a change has since come upon us — 
'Tho girls are as sweet and attractive as then, 

Now to live single invites breach of promise. 
While those who are wed divorce faces them. 

But I will not dwell on this sad situation, 

Tho' love seems at fault with its changeful 
ways 
For at this time seems a poor imitation 
17 



18 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

As compared with the love of those former 
days. 

Long years ago there once lived a maiden, 

As blithe as the birds 'round her own loved 
home, 
Pride of the household, beloved of her neighbors, 
And sought by many of the young swain 
known. 

But of the lot, only one was accepted, 

A mild modest youth, but of humble birth, 

And as often is the case, by her parents rejected 
Because he was deemed of so little worth. 

Yet often, quite often they were strolling to- 
gether 
For their love it was true, and their motive 
pure. 
But time and condition forbid them to marry. 
So time and conditions they must endure. 

Then came a nobleman from over the ocean, 
On meeting this maiden, his heart was aflame. 

Her parents insisted on every occasion, 

And claimed that such union would heighten 
her fame. 

At first she refused, for her heart gave a warn- 
ing, 



THE NOBLEMAN'S WEDDING 19 

And the still voice within said ''there's some- 
thing wrong." 
Still like a ship cut loose from her moorings 
By the force of the tide she was drifting along. 

Who can but pause, and extend commiseration 
When a score or more of friends are together 
arrayed 

With talk, and advice and kindly persuasion 
To alter the mind of an innocent maid. 

Victory is gained by constant endeavor, 

*'The dropping of water will wear a stone," 

So hard did they labor to put her in favor 
That her lips consented, while her heart was 
dumb. 

The time soon arrived for this nobleman's wed- 
ding. 

The house was well filled with invited guests. 
The service was held at the home of the maiden. 

And her own true-love was among the rest. 

There once was a custom, but few now remember, 
That at each Bridal-Party a song was sung, 

And that was supposed to foreshadow the future 
For the good or ill of the two made one. 

The bride was arrayed, a most beautiful creature, 
But to a sad reserve she was much inclined. 

But when she began to think of the future 
Her former love ran through her mind. 



20 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Service being ended, and supper being over 

Each were asked to sing a song; 
The first that began was her own true-lover, 

Commencing thus, as he sang along. 

"Love, here's a ring of a true-lover's token. 

Given to me on yonder plain. 
Long time I've kept it, but now it is broken 

I'll return this ring again." 

Only a verse of the song had been given, 
Scarce the refrain of the sad, sad plaint, 

When in surprise many guests had arisen. 
The poor bride had fallen in a deep dead 
faint. 

She spake to her husband, when the party was 
over, 

''One request will you grant to me, 
Allow me to-night to lie with my mother, 

To-morrow night, love, along with thee," 

Her wish fully granted, with kisses at parting, 
When each repaired to their restful bed. 

So early, so early he 'rose the next morning. 
Arose and found his new bride dead. 

In just three days from that gay marriage ban- 
quet 
The friends came again from both far and 
wide, 



AN ADDRESS 21 

In her bright bridal robes, and laid in a casket 
Was the last he ever saw of his lovely bride. 

Now here is a lesson not hard to discover 

'Tho the cause of her death none were able to 
say; 
But could she have wed with the man of her 
favor 
This tale had been told in a different way. 

AN ADDRESS TO AN OLD WATERING 
TUB. 

GOOD-BYE, poor old tub, you now are 
discarded, 
Though faithful you've been these num- 
berless days. 
Well known to the many and highly regarded, 
Who knew of your goodness and sounded 
your praise. 

Sweet draughts to the dry, oft-times you've im- 
parted 
With never a wish that you might be excused. 
To both men and beasts, whether strong or faint 
hearted 
No drop of your bounty was ever refused. 

Long years you have stood, through all sorts of 
weather, 
The fierce heats of summer, and winter so cold. 



22 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

What a strain you sustained when your waters 
froze over, 
But no one complained as long as you'd hold. 

But Time brings its changes to things we have 
trusted ; 
Your sides are decaying and falling apace. 
Your bands, they are broken, your bottom is 
bursted 
And now a new tub is installed in your place. 

Praised and applauded for its high place of 
glory. 
As though such a tony tub never was seen. 
You well can recall when you heard the same 
story, 
The story that new brooms ever sweep clean. 

Retiring old friend, you now may discover 
That you're not alone in this rejected state. 

All the way down from the king to the lover 
Are liable to meet with a similar fate. 

Old King James of England, as in history re- 
corded. 
At the voice of the people surrendered his 
throne ; 
And President Diaz is lately rewarded 

For long years of service, in exile to roam. 

Of lovers rejected, such events are too frequent 
To need an opinion or comment of mine. 



NO LAND OF A PERFECT PEOPLE 23 

I would leave all such cases for perfect adjust- 
ment, 
To the Power that heeds neither distance nor 
time. 

Sad is the thought the time is approaching, 
A time that shall end every earthly concern; 

When old and discarded, I, too, shall be going 
To a country from whence none ever return. 

But, shattered old tub, we have one thing to 
cheer us. 
When rust and decay and old age shall have 
come. 
When the engine of death and destruction draws 
near us, 
If we yield our existence with duty well done. 

NO LAND OF A PERFECT PEOPLE. 



T 



HIS world is wide from side to side 
And also long in length. 
While many a race fills every place 
In numbers, culture, strength. 



From the northern clime where the porcupine 
And the white bear roam together, 

To the southern fields where a pigment yields 
A dark hue to the colored brother. 

When my steps I trace through many a place 
From hill-side homes to city, 



24 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

I find them made from every grade, 
From stupid dunce to witty. 

We sometimes hear of some hamlet fair 

In some sequestered valley, 
With its rippling stream, and foliage green 

And flowers are blooming gaily. 

We take the thought in such a spot 

Mankind would be perfection, 
But, sad to say on close survey 

They will not bear inspection. 

It is often found, men of renown. 

Of whom there's much to say, 
One w^ould surmise they're wondrous wise, 

A pattern in every way. 

Should you undertake his acquaintance to make 

In a sort of a social way. 
You'd find in fact he something lacked, 

He is only '^Common Clay." 

And then again, there are other men 
We regard as a common *' Crook," 

Who drink and smoke till they're dead broke 
And would steal your pocketbook. 

But should dangers 'rise of alarming size 
On ocean or on land, 



NO LAND OF A PERFECT PEOPLE 25 

Those very men, so vile within 
Are first to lend a hand. 

We knew a case in an eastern place 

Where a hotel got on fire, 
A boarder there went the third floor stair 

To rescue his attire. 

Then being choked by fire and smoke 

Down on the floor he fell. 
Then a voice loud and clear called for volunteers 

To rescue him as well. 

Then out from the crowd came an *'ugly plug," 

Through fire and smoke he went, 
His man he found and brought him down, 

With his own life almost spent. 

And thus we find full many a time 

With those we count as naught, 
When fear controls more worthy souls 

They many brave deeds have wrought. 

So much good is had from those that's bad. 

There's so much bad in the best, 
I am constrained no good is gained 

When we talk about the rest. 

There is a stream that runs between 
Where right and wrong divide, 



26 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

And many pass from either class 
Unto the other side. 

So it does appear while journeying here 
Through scenes of sin and sorrow, 

Those who obey God's laws to-day 
May cross the stream to-morrow. 

The clasps of fists is maningless, 

Exteriors are deceitful. 
In every clime I fail to find 

The land of A PERFECT PEOPLE. 

SKILLED LABOR. 

ONE April day a learned Judge 
Was returning from a term of court, 
The roads were bad from thaws and 
floods. 
And cradle-holes of every sort. 

A nervy nag was the Judge's steed 

Who objected to the flying mud, 
So when passing over a gutter deep 

He gave a jump, and broke a tug. 

The Judge was put to his wit's end. 

With a broken trace and a fractious horse. 

A different problem faced him then 
Than granting ''Mrs. Jones' " divorce. 



SKILLED LABOR 27 

He knew his "Blackstone" near by heart 

And all the digests understood, 
Was authority on all legal art, 

But, didn't know how to mend that tug. 

There was a shop two miles along 

Where he could get the thing repaired, 

But, to leave his sleigh, and foot it home 
Was what the Judge the least desired. 

When down the street came a big black ^ ' coon, ' ' 

As pompous as a commodore, 
And whistling to himself a tune 

Known as "Sweet Bell Of Baltimore." 

The Judge then asked if he would 

Be so kind as to lend his aid. 
To fix his harness, if he could. 

For which he should be amply paid. 

The Darkey then picked up the trace 
Cut off the end the break was on. 

Made a new slot in another place. 

Let it out a hole, and the thing was done. 

"My good man," then said the Judge, 
"Allow me to pay you, if you will." 

To which the darkey quick replied, 
' ' Fifty cents, sah, will pay the bill. ' ' 



28 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Said the Judge, "five minutes has scarce passed 

by 

Since you began me to assist, 
Do you not think that a little high 
For doing a little job like this." 

*'No, sah, the price am none too big, 
Skilled labor, sah, am wanted now, 

I ast twenty-five cents foh doing the job, 
And twenty-five cents foh knowin' how." 

The fifty cents was quickly paid. 

And the Judge drove on being greatly pleased 
To think the price the darkey made 

Compared so well with attorneys^ fees. 

A CHANGE OF HEART. 

The following little poem was written and sent to the 
named persons on the occasion of an invitation to the 
author to dine with them, but was not convenient that 
night, but the next evening it was. 

MR. and Mrs. Blake, this time I take 
To give a little explanation, 
Just to relate I appreciate 
Your kind and generous invitation. 

But at that time I had in mind 

Another purpose to persue. 
But now regret, I did not except 

I so dearly love to dine with you. 



SING TO ME, CHARLEY 29 

Should your invite include to-night, 

And it is not inconvenient, 
Happy 111 be to dine with thee 

With an appetite most persistent. 

SING TO ME, CHARLEY, OVER THE 
PHONE. 

THE old eat is purring, and Bruno is snor- 
ing, 
And mamma is shopping, and I am 
alone, 
The time is less dreary, I will think you are near 
me 
If you'll sing to me, Charley, over the phone. 

No attention be paying to what others are saying. 
If they don't like our style they can leave us 
alone. 

My pa pays the city and I think its a pity 
If I can't have a ditty over the phone. 

Come sing to me quickly some sweet little ditty, 

It will not be so pretty when daddy comes 

home. 

But Sunday, remember, if nothing will hinder, 

We will have the best number left out on the 

phone. 

Refrain. 

Now Charley, come tell me 'fore some one may 
call me. 



30 ECHOES OP MEMORY 

What in the world is a telephone for 
Except to enjoy it by those that employ it? 
If you '11 send me a kiss I '11 send an encore. 

JACK LONGGO.* 

*This story was told as a true tale in the days of my 
grandparents, and was believed to be so by many. 

WHO ever heard of Jack Longgo? 
Pew there be I'm prone to say, 
Por he was among the sturdy few 
Who settled here in an early day 

In a humble cot. 
And his greatest claim to distinction lay 
In his deadly shot. 

'Twas a well known fact throughout the land, 

When by beasts or Indians was assailed. 
With accurate eye, and steady hand 
Before each foe he never qualied 

Whether far or nigh. 
But sent a bullet that never failed 
Through their right eye. 

But there was a class of heartless men, 

Self appointed bold dictators. 
Something like the White-cap clan, 
Who called themselves the regulators 

Of that society, 
A menace to all decent neighbors 
Without propriety. 



JACK LONGGO 31 

This was in a New England town — 
More than a hundred years ago; 
The place was known for miles around 
For lawlessness, discord and woe 

To a great extent, 
While the moral tone was very low 
Vice ran rampant. 

Yet in the place were some good men. 

Some of the Puritan stock were found, 
Who absorbed so much good within 
There was scarce enough to go around 

To each one there. 
With a count, the Devil would surely found 
The biggest share. 

The log hotel was a great resort, 

Where the people met on Saturday night 
To engage in various kinds of sport. 

To smoke and drink, play cards, and fight. 

As they felt in mood. 
Or the long-haired Justice held his court 
But with little good. 

One Saturday night, again they met. 
And Jack was there among the lot 
When they began to talk and bet 
Which of them was the better shot 

In close attack, 
Several were mentioned on the spot,- 
But no one mentioned Jack. 



32 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Then the blacksmith, he arose, 



Saying, ''Gentlemen, with all regard, 
To bring this matter to a close, 
I now propose to pin a card 

Upon the wall — 
I will bring a man, upon my word, 

Can beat you all. 

''For instance, take the five of hearts, 

And tack it up in a sightly place ; 
The center spot shall be the mark, 
And no shot shall count outside the face, 

However near; 
Arm's length, no rests, in every case, 
For all that's here." 



(I 



Well then," said Jack, for he was the chap 
Of whom the blacksmith did imply, . 
"You must take the left-hand corner spot. 
Or else I must decline to try; 

For the fact is 
I aim to hit in the right eye, 
That is my practice." 

And thus the matters were arranged, 

The men were given three shots apiece, 
The five spot card was scarcely grazed, 
Each shot went wild, to say the least 

Till Longgo shot; 
He put three balls with apparent ease 
In the selected spot. 



JACK LONGGO 33 

The Regulators had no love for Jack, 

He had sometimes foiled them in their fun, 
Rescued their victims from the ''pack," 
And one time made their captain run 

To "save his bacon," 
And now they thought the time had come 
For retaliation. 

The captain stepped up to him then. 

And told him that he was not fair; 
He was standing with his empty gun 

So they formed a cordon 'round him there. 

He was trapped, complete; 
Then they knocked him down with a bar-room 
chair. 
And dragged him to the street. 

Then they lashed him to a tree, 

Having stripped his garments down, 
And applied their whips to that degree 
His blood in sprinkles stained the ground 

From his heart's supply; 
Yet not satisfied with each bleeding wound 
They tore out his eye. 

The better class, then remonstrated. 

And urged them strongly to desist, 
Saying no good could be expected 
For doing a wicked thing like this, 

Was what they said. 
And if a life was terminated 
His blood was on their head. 
3 



34 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

At this the captain he replied, 

He swore he knew his business best, 
That if any one were dissatisfied 
A similar fate might fit the rest 

Of the tender crew; 
And if any blood gets on me, I guess 
It will come from you. 

There were two young men among the lot 

Or gang of the regulators, 
Who were attracted to the spot 
As unassisting spectators 

Of the cruel scene, 
But as for the work of the perpetrators 
Their hands were clean. 

They laid him on the blood-stained sod. 

When they thought life nearly done, 
And such a vow he made to God 

Was never heard from mortal tongue 

Saying, '' Whether I live or die, 
I will have revenge on every one 
For the loss of my right eye. 

They left him there, and the band withdrew, 

No one complained, or interfered. 
If he lived or died, no one ever knew. 
For no more of Longgo was ever heard. 

That's what was said; 
But oft reminded afterward 
Of the vow he made. 



JACK LONGGO 35 

Scarce four weeks had then passed o'er 

When a strange noise was heard outside 
Of a regulator's home, who went to the door 
For whatever cause to be satisfied 

Was there danger nigh, 
Then fell back dead upon the floor 
Shot in the right eye. 

Just a few days from the last event, 

Two men were walking out one day; 
And great was their astonishment 
To see a form in their pathway; 

On drawing nigh, 
In a pool of blood a dead man lay. 
Shot in the right eye. 

So time after time the work went on. 

And became a case of frequency. 
No one could tell by whom 'twas done, 
Or solve the dreadful mystery, 

No one dared try 
For each met death in the same way, 
Shot in the right eye. 

So one by one of all that crew 
Only three were left of them, 
Those two young men alluded too, 
And the captain of the gang. 

Who took a mind 
If he could gain some other land 
He would more safety find. 



36 ECHOES OP MEMORY 

And e'er many days were o'er 

He sailed away for a foreign coast, 
No sooner had he reached the shore 
Than he began to boast 

Triumphantly, 
He "was not afraid of Jack Longgo 
Or any of his ghosts that side the sea." 

And scarcely was that sentence said 

When a little noise was heard behind, 
He for a moment turned his head, 
The cause thereof if he might find 

In earth or sky, 
A sharp report, and the man lay dead. 
Shot through the eye. 

For many weeks those two young men 

With fear were pining sore, 

For they thought awaiting them 

Was a similar fate in store. 

But, it come not; 
Jack Longgo was never heard of more, 
And his fame was soon forgot. 

AN ACROSTIC. 
To My Wife ''Mary.'' 

LIKE as the morning dews descend 
Upon the budding flower. 
My early love for thee dear friend 
All free from thoughts that could offend. 




Author's home. Cleveland Heights, Ohio. 



LINES WRITTEN FOR A LADY FRIEND 37 

Now rests where love and friendship blend 
After the noontide hour. 

But soon, alas ! the time will come, 

As fades a lovely summer day; 
Low in the west hangs my setting sun, 
Life's fleeting course will soon be run, 
Our ways must part, you'll be left alone 

Upon life's dreary way. 

LINES WRITTEN FOR A LADY FRIEND. 

MY dear Mrs. H. You asked of me 
To write a little poem. 
The subject-matter supposed to be 
My admiration showing. 
Now its a fact of a poet's mind 
Some inspiration he must find 
Or else to silence is inclined, 
At least "There's nothing doing." 

I have given the subject ample thought 

In all its details, near and far. 
And whether it is good or not 

We'll call ''sport" and nothing more. 
If young and, were all of us. 
Starting on life's race; I trust 
J. would have to ' ' get up and dust ' ' 

Faster than he does to catch a car. 

Now pray don't think I try to flatter. 
Or too sincere may be instead, 



38 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

With the simile of bread and butter 

I know which side to find my bread. 
Far different from Old Hy land's plight 
Who fell in love with a young man's wife, 
And thought all sweetness gone from life 
When she from him had fled. 

There was a time, I remember now, 

When I was sorety tempted 
To place a kiss on a lady's lips. 

That is if she'd consented, 
But, the propitious time was allowed to pass 
Like many of far more worthy class 
Never more to return, alas. 

For we've oft repented. 

The fires of youth are burning low. 

As passing day succeeds the morn. 
Yet, memory keeps the spark a-glow. 

But less brilliant, and less warm. 
My Spring-time leaves are turning brown 
The hand of fate has set the bound. 
Things must remain as they are found 
Until Old Gabriel blows his horn. 

How sweetly flew those hours away 

When I've been at your place. 
The songs, the tunes we used to play 

Will never be effaced. 
When with our instruments (side by side) 
Some quick-step music did provide, 



THE WAIT STATION 39 

With such, if Old David had been supplied 
He would have struck a lively pace. 

Sad is our lot, if we only thought 

The past was all there was to be. 
But we hope and pray there's a brighter day 

In store in the dim futurity. 
The way is dark, we can not see, 
And its up to you and me 
To try to find the ' ' mystic key ' ' 

That unlocks the bars to Eternity. 

And now, Mrs. H., with my regards 

Receive this little poem. 
I must confess its not the best, 

My lack of ''Kulture" showing, 
If in those rhymes you chance to find 
One happy note in word or line. 
The cup of joy that will be mine 

Is full to overflowing. 

THE WAIT STATION. 
TAKE NOTICE. 

THIS shelter-house, or rest station 
Was made for the traveler's accommoda- 
tion, 
A resting place for all who are 
Waiting for the electric car. 

This little house belongs to all. 
As much as does the City Hall. 



40 ECHOES OP MEMORY 

It belongs to you, it belongs to me, 
And in nowise railroad property. 

Cleanliness is next to godliness; 
''Its an evil bird that befouls its nest,'' 
Then who so vile, or who so mean 
As not to wish to keep it clean. 

Now, my friend, you must agree 

It is only for common decency. 

Brother, stranger, think it o'er, 

And resolve to polute the place no more. 



THE TRAVELING HOG. 



T 



HE car was full of passengers, 

Each seat held two or three. 
Excepting one where sat a man 
In his selfish dignity. 



The end of his seat was burden free 

Of anything as yet, 
Except a few small packages 

And perhaps a traveler's grip. 

Across the aisle two seats ahead 
Was a seat containing three. 

Two small boys, and a drunken man 
As drunk as you often see. 

His eyes were closed, his jaws ajar, 
His nose shed forth a glow 



THE TRAVELING HOG 41 

With all the signs of loathsomeness 
That intoxication show. 

A lady entered at a station passed 

Apparently sick and weak, 
And coming along down the aisle 

Was looking for a seat. 

And came to where this big man sat, 

Then pausing there beside, 
In pleasant voice inquired of him 

''Is this seat occupied"? 

Not even deigning to look at her, 

He gruffly then replied, 
"Where are your eyes, can't you see 

This seat is occupied?" 

The drunken chap began to stir. 

And struggling to his feet 
He motioned as he spoke to her, 

"Here, lady, (hie) take my seat." 

When she was fairly seated, 
The old drunk turned his head 

And watery eye on the other guy, 
And this is what he said. 

"I know I'm drunk as a boiled owl, 

But I'll (hie) get over that, 
But with you (hie), it is a hopeless case, 

No matter (hie) where you're at. 



42 ECHOES OP MEMORY 

''You see you're a con-demned hog 
By the way (hie) you used that girl, 

And you never will (hie) get over it 
In God Almighty's world." 

A roar of laughter filled the car 
From one end to the other, 

To hear such sound philosophy 

From a head more wise than sober. 

Several gentlemen then arose 
And offered him their seat. 

To which the gallant toper 
Made answer quite unique. 

Saying, ''No, sir, (hie) I thank you sir, 
I am all right (hie) to stand, 

I could not accept a favor (hie) sir, 
From any better man. 

"If it was not for (hie) my self respect, 

Although I'm full of grog 
I'd just walk over (hie) and take a seat 

Beside that blooming hog." 

And so the train rolled merrily on 
Like the train of life forever. 

With people good, and people bad. 
And drunks and hogs together. 



AMELIA 43 



The "Pork" was looking very cheap 
When I reached my journey's end, 

And hanging on to the back of a seat 
"Was my intoxicated friend. 

AMELIA. 

OYES, I knew Amelia well. 
That was in my boyhood time, 
And youthful joys for girls and boys 
Were in their fullest prime, 
When Love's first fires the heart inspires, 
And brightest suns do shine. 

We were aged about sixteen 

And lived not far apart. 
Her folks were grand in stock and land 

And feeling very smart, 
While the case with me and Job's turkey 

Neither had much the start. 

Amelia was short but of medium girth, 

With eyes of a hazel hue. 
And while one eye stood a little high. 

The other looked from a lower view; 
Meantime, her chin it must have been. 

Stood a little out of true. 

Now Amelia had a loving heart, 
As actions often show, 



44 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

She could play and sing most anything, 

In a voice both sweet and low, 
And though her face wasn't quite in place 

She was fair as beauties go. 

Her Pa to the Legislature went 

By vote of his native town; 
His lady, too, e'er the term was through 

Among the crowd was found 
To show herself, 'mong men of wealth, 

And also gain renown. 

The old man felt his consequence, 

As of uncommon worth, 
A real, bloated aristocrat 

In feelings if not in girth. 
And seemed to see that such as he 

Were lords of all the earth. 

I own I fancied Amelia some, — 
Would fain have been her beau, — 

Once in a while, attending school. 
Walked with her, to and fro, 

But her brother took a different look. 
And pitched me into the snow. 

I drew myself out of the cool situation, 
As a committee of one, drew a recommendation, 
Which really afforded a fine consolation, 
By which I firmly took my stand: 



AMELIA 45 

'T were better far to abandon her 
Than continually have a row on hand. 

I knew her folks would disapprove 
And in my face would shut their door, 

If they but thought their girl I sought, 
No welcome would I find there, more, 

They being great in rich estate, 
And I a youth, friendless and poor. 

Poverty, Poverty, 

Ofttimes a fate from folly fed ! 
Those of renown sometimes go down, 

"While those more humble rise instead. 
It much depends on means and ends. 

According to what life they've led. 

I owed her brother no ill-will; 

Now feel to thank him double, 
For often times such cool advice 

Has saved a sight of trouble, 
And though it seems heroic, means 

It can but save a muddle. 

The Speedwells. 

About this time, in another town, 

A family lived, by name Speedwell, 
They were not classed of great renown, 
Yet lots of style they sported 'round, 
And felt considerable swell. 



46 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Some people thought, and even said, 

That the older Speedwell came 
From a province near Madrid, 

In the country of old Spain: 
Sure it was, their features did 

Such an ancestry proclaim. 

Among the brood was a pair of twins 

That had arrived at man's estate. 
Two peas from one pod could not have been 
More alike than those two young men 
In actions, looks, and shape. 

Mustaches, hair, and even their eyes 

Were just as black as the raven's feather. 
Their clothes were made same style and size 
And few there were however wise 
Could tell one from the other. 

When the lads were in their youth, 

Or verging on to man's estate, 
One by accident lost a tooth, 

Which made a difference very great; 
The other, wishing to keep the disguise, 
Had a sound incisor pulled likewise. 

On festive times, at ball or fair, 

A convention or a race. 
Those two young men were always there 
And gave the ladies an ample share 

Of attention at the place. 



AMELIA 47 

I cannot say they meant to be bad, 

Though many thought them so; 
To them it had become a fad - 

Whenever an opportunity had, 

They loved to play a trick or two. 

So nimbly would they spin around 

And seemed to feel so proud; 
The great attraction on the ground 
And though unmindful, were often found 

The heroes of the crowd. 

Once at a house they called for trade, 

And one of them went in; 
The place was kept by a little maid 
Who so much her generous heart displayed 

As to give some fruit to him. 

On looking out when he was gone, 
Down by the cart she saw the brother, 

And then she thought 'twould not be wrong 

To take her dish and trip along 
And give some to the other. 

She said she'd love to give a share 

To the one who'd staid by the team as well 

When each in earnest did declare 

He was the one who waited there. 

But to save herself from black despair, 
Which was the one, she could not tell. 



48 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

The Ball. 

There came a time, there came a ball, 

And there came many both low and loud, 

Both fat and lean, both short and tall, 
And mingled in that dancing crowd, 

With every heart on pleasure bent. 

For good or ill, which way it went. 

Now, Sweet Amelia loved to dance, 

And could trip It 'round as light as a feather, 
And went whene'er she had a chance, 

So she and her brother came together. 
A bigoted, boastful, dough-head dunce 
To know, was to despise at once. 

And now had come the dancing hour. 
The mutual "A" had been obtained, 

The sets arranged upon the floor. 

The music pealed forth in pleasing strains. 

The Speedwell twins were also there, 
Carlos and Collins were their names. 

The last number had been called, 
Each fair partner was given seats; 

So often the eyes of pretty Amelia, 

The wandering gaze of Don Carlos meets. 

And the attitude she seemed to take 

Was that of the bird before the snake. 



AMELIA 49 

An introduction was soon acquired; 

Each with a partner was supplied. 
A conspicuous place Don Carlos shared 

With little Amelia by his side. 
It seemed, if such things could have been, 
Angels were weeping around them then. 

Now twang the harp, and shake the bow 
As 'round and 'round and 'round they go. 
With happy hearts and willing feet 
All keeping time to the music 's beat, 
Of all the happy hearts were there, 
None with Amelia's could compare. 

And thus it was throughout the evening 
Eegardless of what was thought or said 

Carlos and Amelia danced together 
And many a contra dance they led, 

So highly suited with each other 
All other issues seemed but dead. 

And when the call was made for supper 
With all the air of a gallant knight 

Down from the hall Don Carlos led her 
And seated Amelia at his right, 

While lower down her brother was seen 

And Don Carlos' lady sandwiched in between. 

Then after supper, for awhile. 

The time was spent with jest and joke, 
4 



50 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Lovers cooed, and friends would smile, 

And the fiddlers took their time to smoke, 
While Carlos and Amelia, it appears. 
Soon wandered away from all listening ears. 

In a vine clad arbor just removed. 

Where the drooping leaves no zephyr stirred; 
Young Don Carlos poured forth his love 

In the strongest language ever heard. 
So wonderfully did he wield his art 
That little Amelia lost her heart. 

Love, the sweetest choicest blessing. 

Which the human soul obtains, 
The way 'tis treated is distressing. 

Of blasted hopes, despair, and shame, 
And much of love declared at night 
Will not outlive the morning light. 

Could little Amelia have seen the plan. 

Could some kind spirit have let her know, 

To see the devil behind the man 

It would have saved her a world of woe. 

But the desire for love in the female mind, 

Leaves all other considerations far behind. 

He said, "There is no girl I know 
As yet I have ever learned to love, 

But when I cast my eyes on you 
You seemed a being from above, 



AMELIA 51 

No place on earth can now be drear, 
If blessed by thy sweet presence there. 

''The million stars that fill the skies 

Smile welcomes back, to your upturned gaze, 

And birds and flowers with loving eyes 
Will gladly look on your smiling face. 

One word from you will seal my doom, 

For a life of bliss or eternal gloom.'' 

Said she, ''Dear sir, don't think it wrong, 

A suitor I've never had before; 
The world is new, for I am young; 

Pray, let me think the matter o'er. 
I am willing to trust you all I can 
For you seem the soul of an honest man. 

And, furthermore, it seems to me 

You are so very much like your brother, 
If it were not for your constancy 
I could not tell one from the other. 
And now what course can I pursue 
To keep from taking him for you. ' ' 

He said, ''I'll tell you how to tell, 

Just take that rosebud from your hair. 

Attach it to my coat lapel. 

Like a sweet emblem, I'll wear it there. 

And when we meet in future time 

I shall keep the bud, but my heart is thine." 



52 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Our sweetest dreams must have an end. 

All festive nights must end in day. 
The two young lovers sauntered 'round, 

Nor took much part in dance or play, 
And when the hour of parting came 
She had lost what she never found again. 

How silly all such things appear 
To those whose sun is setting low; 

By change of season, flight of years 
It hardly seems it could be so, 

Yet we confess when we were young 

We used to know how the thing was done. 

In a few short days Don Carlos came 

To Amelia's home he went. 
He was well received by every one, 

He being so fine and attractive gent, 
Amelia met him with joy and hope, 
And the little bud showed on his coat. 

In just two weeks he came again. 
It was Don Carlos, all did suppose. 

The hat, the coat, the watch and chain 
Decked Collins in his brother's clothes. 

And the little red tie about the throat 

And even the rose bud on his coat. 

So time passed on for a month or two. 

First Don Carlos, and then the brother 
And little Amelia had two beaus, 



AMELIA 53 

And never knew one from the other. 
Such was the case, and yet 'tis true 
The real facts she never knew. 

Who but the heartless sons of Spain 

Could have contrived such a hellish plan? 

Who but those who sank the Maine 

Could betray to death their fellow men, 

And then rejoice with exulting breath, 

To see their victims go down to death? 

What man but of a fiend possessed 
Could act more than a Judas' part 

To betray a woman's faithfulness, 
Or trample on a trusting heart, 

And never even give a thought 

Of the utter ruin they have wrought? 

Her folks began to look around 
To learn what sort of man was he. 

And find some fault, if it could be found 
If he was not of high degree. 

They vetoed the whole thing from the start, 

Because he drove a peddler's cart. 

Amelia mourned for many a day. 
Her piano stood, unused and shut. 

Her room in great disorder lay; 

At night, with tears her pillows wet. 

While the Speedwells winked one eye. 

And looked for other tricks to try. 



54 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Benjamin Cole. 

Just over the hill an old farmer dwelt, 
Considered by many a man of great wealth. 
He had beautiful lands and a beautiful house, 
Beautiful horses, oxen, and cows, 
A beautiful orchard, and a fine cider mill. 
This wealthy old farmer, just over the hill. 

An honest, hardworking, industrious man. 

Who never adopted the Roosevelt plan 

Of the blessing of children. He had only one, 

A quiet, contented, and home-loving son, 

Who did every duty he had to fulfill. ' 

That was Benjamin Cole, just over the hill. 

A man of small stature, and medium mind. 
As compared with Don Carlos, would fall far 

behind. 
Or had they been viewed by the eye of a sage, 
Carlos was a knight, and Ben Cole was a page, 
And were we to judge, and of symbols make use. 
He was near like a man, as a duck is a goose. 

Amelia's kind parents thought to stop all the 

bother 
Wished in their hearts to get those young folks 

together ; 
So, early one Sunday, they gave it a start, 
Her big-headed brother took a quite active part 



AMELIA 55 

While sad-hearted Amelia, without project or 

plan 
Thought, ''Good Lord, anybody, if it's only a 

man. ' ' 

Now songs were sung, and sleigh bells rung 
And tidings flew, the friends among, 
And the choicest rigs that run about 
Often from the old man's yard turned out. 
Before many moons had time to roll 
Amelia Dale was Amelia Cole. 

The terminus came around at last, 
Like a bountiful meal on which we dine. 

Such a big event could not move too fast 
As to put the actors out of time. 

When the glamor ceased and the turmoil was still 

She went to live with Ben Cole, just over the hill. 

She had everything heart could desire, 
A home, a husband, food and fire. 
And clothes befitting any queen. 
And yet she lived as in a dream. 
With a brow which told of constant care. 
For a broken heart she carried there. 

Weeks grew to months, months grew to a year; 

Yet sad Amelia seemed the same 
Until one morning bright and clear 

A sweet girl baby to them came; 
And then the days that had seemed so drear 

Were now forgot by joy again. 



56 :echoes of memory 

Oh! that our joys might always last 

Or meet our woes with consistent grace; 

Nor open the grave of the troubled past, 
To look again on its horrid face. 

The book of mem'ry we would retain, 

Though it point to the record of lasting pain. 

God's immutable laws we can't remove, 
There 's enough of hate ; there 's enough of love ; 
There's enough of joy; there's enough of woe; 
And man's the cause that makes it so; 
Of all God's creatures we surely find 
Mankind to man is most unkind. 

Amelia's Dream. 

One night in their bed these young folks were 
sleeping 
When he was awakened by Amelia 's soft voice ; 
So sweet were her tones to someone a-speaking 
'Twould cause the cold heart of a stone to re- 
joice. 

He did not disturb her, for he had a notion 
That 'twas to her babe she was trying to speak, 

But when she continued with unwonted emotion 
He quickly concluded she talked in her sleep. 

' ' Dear Carl, " she said, ' ' I am so glad you came, 
I have looked so long, my heart it is sore, 



AMELIA 57 

I had thought that I never should see you again, 
But thanks to kind heaven, I meet you once 
more! 

''My husband has gone to take home a lady 
And will not return before it is nine, 

I will get you some supper, while you hold my 
baby. 
And then we '11 talk over our once happy time. 

''Oh! why did you leave me, to mourn for you 
ever. 
It seemed often times that my heart it would 
break, ' ' 
When her husband, he gave her a pinch on the 
shoulder 
And then in a moment she became wide awake. 

Then said he, "Amelia, what is the meaning. 
And who is this Carl you were addressing so 
dear? 
Have you gone daffy, or were you but dreaming ? 
Come! Out with the facts, I'm waiting to 
hear." 

Then between cries and sobs and outbursts of 
crying 
She told him her story, from beginning to end. 
How Carl Speedwell had won her, then was de- 
serted by him. 
That to all other men she could be only friend. 



58 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

He quickly arose, dressed and made ready, 
Collected his treasures but said not a word, 

Tears fell on her face as he kissed their young 
baby, 
'Twas the last of Ben Cole that she ever heard. 

Poor, foolish Amelia, she showed too much feel- 
ing, 
She had ruined her prospects, and perhaps his, 
also, 
If we get in a box, there is no use in squealing, 
But quietly wait till you see what to do. 

And now I would say to all young married peo- 
ple. 
Don't tell your companions of the scenes 
you've gone through. 
It will do them no good, not one jot or tittle. 
It may in the future bring trouble to you. 

Five weary weeks she did remain 

Abiding at his father's home, 
Weeks of misery, tears and pain. 

Watching for him who did not come. 
Then back to her parents who pitied her still, 
She quitted the farm house, just over the hill. 

Now could I say with truthfulness. 

As novel writers end their tales, 
That everything proved for the best. 

With all the Speedwells, Coles, and Dales, 



AMELIA 59 

A thing that I should love to do, 

As 'twould be more pleasing unto you. 

To say Don Carlos did repent, 

His troubled soul gave him no rest. 

So to Amelia quick he went, 

And all his wicked ways confessed. 

And while she forgave for the wretched wrong, 

Transferred her love to the husband gone. 

And how her brother, dunce that he was. 
Came to the front for assistance then, 

Gladly espoused his sister's cause. 

Took it upon himself to find poor Ben, 

And how for weeks and months did roam. 

Found him at last, and brought him home. 

And when the two were brought together. 
And the whole transaction had been explained, 

No mortal pair were more happy ever, 
And ever after so remained. 

A tale like that, would be but glossed. 

Truth sacrificed, and the moral lost. 

That punishment does follow crime. 

Like the wake of the vessel through the sea. 

It may seem obscure for a little time, 
But ends only with eternity. 

Excuse my halt thus to explain. 

Now I'll take up my thread again. 



60 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Poor Amelia lived as though living not, 
Avoiding all the friends she'd known, 

With a mother's love, with a mother's thought, 
She loved her babe, and that alone ; 

A forsaken love, an abandoned wife. 

How could she longer wish for life. 

The babe was named for Amelia's mother, 
Aunt Mary Dale, I knew her well, 

Mary D. Cole was what they called her. 
So fine a child, few could excell, 

Who had seemed to give her father back. 

That mead of love the mother lacked. 

Healthy, happy, joyous, bright. 

And filled the house with her mirthful noise, 
Until that dreadful fatal night. 

Pale grew her cheeks, and sad her voice. 
And thus she pined, yet sure and slow, 
As if she shared in her mother's woe. 

At length the baby grew so ill. 

The doctor was called to the little bed, 

Examined the patient with professional skill 
Diagnosed the case, but nothing said. 

And the little pale face, fair child of clay, 

Was white as the pillow on which she lay. 

A few more days of watching, weeping, 
A few more days of sighs and pain, 



AMELIA 61 

A few more days and she fell a-sleeping, 

Never to wake, on earth, again. 
Then poor Amelia, in a stupor lay, 
'Twixt life and death for many a day. 

A bruised reed, she lived and died, 
Complaining not of that endless woe, 

An unseen figure walked by her side, 
Or in her heart it seemed 'twas so. 

And thus exchanged a life of bliss. 

For one short evening's foolishness. 

For years the Speedwells sported 'round, 
Then each of them a wife did choose. 

Out of a class thought lower down, 
Unfit to loose Amelia's shoes. 

They lived and died, of little worth, 

Having gone the way of all the earth. 

That lunkhead brother of which we spoke. 
In after years made great amends. 

In a business way he did much work. 
In a social way made many friends. 

But the poor fellow lost his mind. 

Died in a mad-house, where confined. 

As through life's voyage we take our way. 
And for wealth and happiness try, 

Whether much or less be gained or lost, 
All at the last must die. 

And every high and haughty head, 

Is just as humble, when they^re dead. 



62 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

There's an old church yard, in a distant town, 

Where the noon-day sun sheds its rays ; 
There's a hollow in the ground, where once was 
a mound 
And a moss-covered stone marks the place. 
Should broken-hearted lovers, by this chance to 

stroll, 
They may read on the slab, Amelia D. Cole. 

A POLITE NOTICE. 

Sent to a delinquent purchaser of one of the books, 
*' Wayside Musings.'* 



Y 



OU remember, you took of me a book. 

One day when I dined at your home, 
And you said you'd pay some future 
day- 
Alas! that day has never come. 



Now, my friend Will, I'm doing business still. 
And a ''bit" of land shall buy, no doubt, 

I need a dollar and a quarter to finish the matter 
And thought that you might help me out. 

I rather expect a little check 

Or a post office order will surely do ; 

Please send to me such and I '11 thank you much, 
Yours very respectfully. L. A. Ballou. 



ON SELLING MY LAST SHEEP 63 

ON SELLING MY LAST SHEEP. 

OYES, I've seen the last depart, 
One of the many I've cherished so. 
With downcast eyes, and saddened heart 
Which almost caused the tears to start, 
I've seen the last one go. 

My companions, they since long ago, 

Together we've roamed the mountains o'er. 

They sometimes wandered, it is true. 

Just what mankind is prone to do. 
Can we expect of them much more ? 

Patiently taking all abuse. 

With never a word in answer back. 

Slaughtered by dogs without excuse, 

Except their flesh is called in use. 
To feed a worthless pack. 

How sweet the thought in that beautiful story 

Of the Shepherd and his ninety and nine ! 
For tho' the night was dark and dreary, 
Resting not, though faint and weary. 
Till he found the lost one left behind. 

Often times, through copse and thicket. 

Oft o'er mountains, rocky, steep, 
With cautious feet my path I've picked it, 
Never wishing once to quit it, 

Until I found my missing sheep. 



64 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

If such regard I owe to them, 

Dumb creatures of a lower sphere, 

How much more my fellow man, 

Since mortal life is but a span 
Through this short journey here. 

Were I to stand on life's dark shore, 
And see my last friend sail away 
To that unknown port to return no more, 
I would beg the Pilot to take me o'er. 
I should no longer wish to stay. 

SAINT JOSEPH'S HOSPITAL. 

THERE was a man, so I've heard said 
Was much in need of medical aid. 
Whether for himself or for a friend 
It makes no difference in the end. 

So he at once set out to find 
An institute of a medical kind. 
Above them all of which he'd heard 
Saint Joseph's Hospital was preferred. 

As he was hurrying down the street 

A big Irishman he chanced to meet. 

Sauntering up the street at leisure 

And smoking his pipe with seeming pleasure. 

Then said the man, ''I wish to know 
The quickest way that I can go — 



THE ENGLSHMAN'S WARNING 65 

I will thank you much if you can tell 
To reach Saint Joseph's Hospital. 

He took his pipe-stem from his teeth, 
He cleared his throat, and began his speech. 
^' 'Tis the quickest way sure, ye want to go, 
Wall, Oim th mon fur tellin' you. 

''Kape right along here till ye meet 

Up with Twenty-second Street, 

Thin pass two blocks to the right, and come 

Fornist Casey's beer saloon. 

"Thin crass over and drap in there 
Ask Casey fur a drink of beer. 
And while engaged in the occupation 
Introduce some religious conversation. 

"Bring down yer fisht on the counter 'slap,' 
Saying, ' To hell wid th' Pope ; or words like that. 
When ye come to, in a little spell, 
Ye '11 be in Saint Joseph's Hospital." 

THE ENGLISHMAN'S WARNING. 

IN an English town once lived a man. 
Being old, he died long years ago; 
He was very wise as the term implies, 
For many things he came to know. 
He claimed that people everywhere 
With similar faces would compare, 
5 



66 ECHOES OF MEMOET 

The mouth, the nose, the eyes, the hair 
Showed certain attributes also. 

He said he would wager a keg of ale 

That the wife of Job, if the case was clear, 
Had a nose as sharp as a bushman's dart 

And a tongue like an Indian's spear. 
And when Job's friends went over there 
To torment Job and make him swear, 
Not one with his wife could compare 
In language so severe. 

But death it seems had an eye on him, 

And wished to close up his affairs, 
Took the advantage, foreclosed the mortgage 
And sent him to climb the Golden Stairs. 
But before he went he did demand 
That his only son should by him stand, 
And receive advice from a dying man 
Before he left this world of cares. 

''Now, John, 'Hi 'ham going to die," he said, 

*'Ha bit hof hadvice 'Hi would disclose, 
Work with your 'ands as well as your 'ead 

'Hand tell no lies to friends nor foes. 
But, habove the rest 'Hi ave to say, 
"When you come up to your wedding day, 
Hif you marry a girl then 'ells' to pay 
Who 'as thin lips 'hand a peaked nose. 



THE ENGLSHMAN'S "WARNING 67 

''When 'Hi was young 'Hi stole ha ring, 
'Hand ad been sentenced to be 'ung, 

While being conveyed we met a maid 

Who turned 'hand joined the 'angman's 
throng, 

The 'hexecutioner did reply, 

Hif Hi'd marry 'er 'Hi should not die; 

Thin lips 'hand peaked nose, said 'Hi, 
Carter, you may drive along. 

*' 'Is Majesty 'earing 'hof the case 
'Hat once put out to lend 'is voice, 

'Ha full reprieve 'Hi did receive 
For making such a righteous choice, 

'Hit seemed that the King just knew 

What trials must 'ha man pass through 

Who being tied to such a shrew 

Was the 'hend 'hof hall 'is 'hearlhy joys. 

"Now, Johnny, 'Hi must say good-by. 
Where 'Hi shall land nobody knows, 

One thing 'his so where ever 'hi go 
Beneath the sod 'hi '11 find repose ; 

'Hi ham 'hold 'hand the 'hold must die, 

The young may go 'has well 'has 'Hi, 

'Tis better 'hin the grave to lie 
Than live with a woman with a peaked nose. ' ' 

And so the old man passed away 
And out of sight seems out of mind 



68 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

For men still make the same mistake, 

When 'tis too late they often find 
No use to cry '' Beware, beware"; 
To each lover seems his sweetheart fair 
It has always been so everywhere. 

In their courting days all men are blind. 

GRACE. 

This little verse was composed expressly for the grand- 
children of the author, for them to sing before meals, in 
place of a prose ' ' blessing ' ' and set to the tune of ^ ' The 
Eeaper and The Flower." 

DEAR gracious Lord, with sweet accord 
Thou dost our wants attend, 
For all this food Thou hast bestowed, 
To Thee our thanks ascend. 
Help us to know while here below 

Thy bounteous love and care, 
So when at last, life's portal's past, 
Of Thy heavenly bounty share. 

A WOMAN'S TONGUE. 

I HAVE a friend, whom I respect 
Far above the average clan, 
Possessed of a brilliant intellect 
Above the ordinary man. 
Of a liberal spirit is possessed 
Who wants his share, but leaves the rest, 
A ready helper in distress, 

A good Samaritan in the land. 



A WOMAN'S TONGUE 69 

But, "One sma Faut" as Burns has said, 

His many virtues stands among, 
He seems to have a horrid dread 

Of a lashing from a woman's tongue. 
Can't be Mrs. G. that pesters him, 
Her nose is not peaked, her lips not thin, 
Some other woman it must have been 

By whom he has been badly stung. 

This good friend once said to me, 

(Knowing that I some rhymes had strung) 

*'Next time you write some poetry 

Take for your theme, 'A Woman's Tongue.' " 

Now, my friend, with deference due, 

And all regard I have for you. 

Allow me with a different view 

From what you thought I would have sung. 

Heaven forbid that I should utter 

One word against a woman's tongue. 
My comfort, counsel, guide, instructor 

All through the days when I was young. 
My heart now swells, as I remember 
When my infant eyes refused to slumber 
The hymns and ditties without number, 
As by my crib, she sat and sung. 

"What is home without a mother?" 

As by some worthy poet sung. 
From her Maker we must take her 

Light, and shade, alternate flung. 



70 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

What if the sun shone on forever, 
There would be no change of weather, 
Mortal man would then discover 

There was something worse than a woman's 
tongue. 

When we arrive at early manhood 
Naught can describe the perfect bliss, 

The charm, the rapture ne'er recorded 
Of that first fond maiden kiss, 

Had we then have been so fearful 

Behind those lips there was something dreadful 

We certainly had been more careful 
In doing a dangerous thing like this. 

When the decisive hour has come. 

When one syllable seals our destinies. 

When the eastern skies mark the coming dawn, 
And we anxious wait what the answer is, 

Vying with the voice of the morning bird 

No sweeter note was ever heard 

To greet our ear than that one word 
From a woman's tongue, a low murmured 
''Yes." 

With memories lead, let us retrace 

The winding ways through which we've come. 
Through vistas dim to childhood's days, 

When budding memory first began. 
Who was it watched with wakeful eye? 
Who was it hushed our baby cry? 



REPLY TO A LETTER 71 

And soothed us with a lullaby? 

Sweet cadence from a woman's tongue. 

Mother, wife, sister, daughter, 

I pray the time will never come 
When I shall dread to hear your voices. 

Journeying with this earthly throng. 
With hearts and hands no duty fearing, 
Radiant smiles ever endearing. 
And words of comfort ever cheering 

Echoed from a woman's tongue. 

Let them scold, 'tis nothing painful, 

Most violent storms are soonest past, 
Man himself is sometimes hateful, 

In imperfect moulds we all are cast. 
But in the deepest of a muddle 
Should outside parties give us trouble 
The woman then takes up the cudgel 
And fights our battles to the last. 

REPLY TO A LETTER. 

On being asked to give a recommendation (by a firm) 
of a young man seeking employment of them. This re- 
ply was sent. 

A MAN whose age is twenty-eight, 
And has not good habits firmly fixed. 
Nor chosen the path narrow and straight. 
But oft in doubtful measures mixed. 



72 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

If they reform, or change at all, 
It is not as sudden as that of Paul. 

My aid to others I'd gladly give, 

A duty due our fellow man, 
God helps those who helps themselves 

And those who won't, nobody can. 
This information, I think will do. 

Respectfully, L. A. Ballou. 

THE PRISONER'S DAUGHTER. 

IT was in '^01d Merry England" 
This true narrative relates, 
When the Crown held strong dominion 
Over countrys small and great. 
Or she learned a useful lesson 
From her "child, United States." 

That was many, many years ago 

When death was sentence for a thief; 

Many homes were filled with woe, 
Many a heart was filled with grief. 

And Christians were also put to death 
In consequence of their belief. 

Their bones were broken on the rock 
Burned at the stake, they were likewise. 

Every known torture was applied in fact 
That human deviltry could devise. 

Often chained down on their back 

With a slow fire melting out their eyes. 



THE PRISONER'S DAUGHTER 73 

This might lead some a question to ask, 
Why such awful things were done? 

Why some performed such gruesome tasks? 
From which no earthly good could come? 

'Twas religious tyranny behind a mask, 
For the Name, and sake of the Holy One. 

About that time there lived a man, 
A consistent upright man was he, 

Who could not stand by the church's plan 
In its flood of inconsistency. 

So he was arraigned by the Papist clan 
For the ''so called heresy." 

Then those self-styled Christian men 

Poured out their vials of wrath. 
Saying no one had a right to live 

Without a certain faith. 
In a dungeon cell they confined him then 

Condemned to starve to death. 

To die from mere starvation 

Must be an awful death to die. 
To feel the gnawing pange of hunger. 

The increasing lack of the blood supply. 
To know that soon that awful doom 

Is steadily drawing nigh. 

He had a married daughter 
With a heart as pure as gold, 



74 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Possessed in full of a daughter's love 

The like not often is told. 
Besides being mother of a little babe 

In age about six months old. 

His cries pierced through the prison walls 

Was heard by passers-by; 
His fervent prayer, his urgent calls 

For pity from on high. 
But, weaker; fainter day by day 

As the end was drawing nigh. 

''Father in heaven, why should this be; 

To be tormented thus? 
I have tried to serve Thee faithfully, 

In Thee I only trust. 
If it be Thy will to afflict me still, 

Like Job, I will think it just. 

''But if it's only the will of men 

That keeps me starving here, 
I know its within your power still 

To check their foul career, 
So when at last, all hope is past. 

Relief is often near. 

"Ah! that some little pretty mouse 

So much my friend would be. 
As to bring some old forsaken crust 

Into this den to me, 



THE PRISONER'S DAUGHTER 75 

That I again might ease this pain, 
This untold misery." 

His daughter hearing of the tale, 

Straight to the King she went, 
And before the throne, on her knees she fell 

And begged for his consent 
To let her visit her father's cell 

Each day till his life was spent. 

The King then believing this 

That the man had not long to live. 

But caring less for the man's distress 
Than to see a woman grieve. 

As it oft appears, by a woman's tears 
He was forced consent to give. 

Then her babe was given other food. 

Thereby was hushed to rest, 
And what the infant should have had 

Was stored within her breast. 
And strange to say in this curious way 

Another soul was blest. 

When she arrived at the dungeon door. 

She could not enter in 
Till appointed 'matrons had searched her o'er 

From outside wraps to skin, 
To make sure no food she bore 

Into the cell to him. 



76 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

And this was "Christian England/' 

Of whom we are so proud? 
Who boasts of her dominions 

In phrases long and loud. 
Had she her deserts for her wicked works, 

She would vanish like a cloud. 

Human life was held as of little worth, 
Like ''The Prince's in the Tower." 

And those who came of royal birth 
Their lives weren't safe an hour. 

Each aspirant then strove for command. 
For opulence and power. 

' ' Ho ! ho ! Who is this approaching ? 
Is this the messenger of death? 
Or, it some good spirit come to show me the way, 
I have waited long, wishing you to come, 
I am not hungry any more, the worm is dead. 
Hark ! Is someone singing, or is it noises 
In my head ? What makes it so dark ? Have we 
Come to the river, and will the boat-man be there, 
And shall we be where they starve no more? 
0, I am sinking down, give me your hand. 
I am not afraid, don't you hear those voices? 
They are calling, calling, calling me." 

So he jabbered on in this broken strain. 
Regardless of all there was in view, 

A delirium had seized his brain, 

His earthly course seemed almost through. 



THE PRISONER'S DAUGHTER 77 

When she exclaimed, ' ' I am your Jane, 
I have come to visit you.'' 

As a flickering lamp may come to life 

From a near extinguished flame, 
So a little thought seemed to revive 

At the mention of her name. 
Then whispering to himself, "My wife. 

My long lost darling, Jane. 

''0, yes, I do remember her, 

But she died long years ago ; 
We had a little daughter, too, 

And we called her Jane, also. 
Are you the woman's spirit. 

You seem much like her, too." 

She sat down by that nest of straw, 

On that filthy dungeon floor. 
And then into her woman's lap 

His helpless head she bore. 
Thinking ''alas" she had come too late 

To be of assistance more. 

As new-born babes desire the sincere milk 
Of the mother's breast, so the law of nature 
Is stronger than all the rest, beside. 
Of the sustenance (all unconsciously) of which 
The law of life provides, he did partake 
Until the gnawing ' ' worm ' ' of hunger v/as 
Partially satisfied, as she in a mother-like 



78 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Manner held him to her breast. 

Then falling back upon his dog-like nest, 

Like a weary child he sank to sleep, and rest. 

And there his daughter Jane, 

By his sleeping form she sat. 
While gushing tears like copious rain 

Pell softly on her lap. 
Tears of joy, or tears of woe. 

When a voice outside cried, 
''It's time to go." 

So weary time wore slowly by 

As endeth every earthly thing, 
No more was heard of his piercing cry 

Or groans of his suffering. 
Yet every day that lady came 

With permit from the King. 

"By this time he must be dead,'' 

So the keepers said, at length, 
"And his remains must be removed 

To save the prison stench." 
But when they searched they found instead 

A man in health, and strength. 

The prison officials then hurried away 

As fast as they could spring 
To (such a mysterious problem) lay 

Before their sovereign king, 



THE PRISONER'S DAUGHTER 79 

That they might before His Majesty 
The guilty party bring. 

The king then hearing of the same, 

Straight for the woman sent, 
That she might solve the mystery 

Of what the matter meant. 
And if it came she was to blame 

She should share like punishment. 

Then said the king, ''Through my good will 

My free consent I gave 
That you could visit your father's cell 
As long as he should live. 
Now show the source that keeps him still, 

Or your "bed" shall be the grave. 

Then falling down upon her knees 

She bared her snow-white breast, 
Saying, "0 King, this is the means 

The truth I now confess, 
Now punish me just as you please, 

Even death, if you think best. 

''I am your loyal subject. 

And a loyal subject's wife, 
I robbed the food from my little babe 

To save my father's life; 
If a deed like this demands my death 

I accept it without strife. 



80 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

"Are you a loving father now, 

Were you a dutiful son, 
A.nd would you wish your daughter slain 

If the same by you she'd done? 
It is not indeed for myself I plead, 

But, for my sire, and little one." 

The king possessed an iron will. 

That had not improved by events of years. 
But a little kindness lingered still 

Beneath the crust, so it appears. 
And long before her plea was o'er 

That haughty face was wet with tears. 

Then said the king, ''Most noble girl, 

Your filial love appeals to me, 
I would there were more in this world 

Who take such responsibility. 
My pardon I give without reserve, 

You and your sire, I Now Set Free.'' 

THE BEAUTIFUL JANE. 

YE blessed keepers of the laws. 
So pure, serene, contented, 
Who suffer not from any cause 
That might have been prevented. 
With no pity at all when others fall, 

Like the "Pharisee" you pray 
And blessing GOD from your inmost soul, 
"You're not as bad as they." 



THE BEAUTIFUL JANE 81 

Come listen to this truthful tale, 

Of a charming little sprite 
Who in the ''Old Granite State 

First beheld the light," 
She was witty, she was pretty 

And they used to call her name 
In the days of sweet prosperity 

The ''Beautiful Jane." 

At length, she grew to womanhood 

And promised quite as fair 
To meet the same success in life 

New England ladies share; 
In innocence she sported 

Until a suitor came. 
And then she was married. 

This laughter-loving Jane. 

That marriage proved a failure 

As often is the case. 
For rum, and inconsistency 

Affection will displace; 
In a little while they parted. 

She perhaps was some to blame 
Which resulted in his parting from 

His once light-hearted Jane. 

Upon the stage of action 

In Vermont she next appears. 
Housekeeping for another man 

Her senior by many years; 
6 



82 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

She ministered to his every want 
Like a true, matronly dame, 

But still he never wedded with 
His much contented Jane. 

For twenty years she served him well 

The best that she could do, 
When summoned by death's messenger 

And then he had to go. 
And so it seems he left no means 

This woman to maintain, 
So without delay she was turned away 

This homeless, friendless Jane. 

Then she sought another man 

Who wished to make a shift. 
Who kept her for a few weeks 

And then sent her adrift. 
At night upon the ground she lay 

Amid the dews and rain. 
Sad and forlorn her beauty gone, 

This sin-polluted Jane. 

A roving, rollicking Irishman 

Was working near the place, 
And what he saw to love her for 

Could not have been her face, 
If she would be his mistress 

He promised to maintain. 
So she agreed to the sinful deed 

This poor, forsaken Jane. 



THE BEAUTIFUL JANE 83 

Now in a wretched hovel 

She with this brute does stay, 
Who shamefully abuses her 

When his fancy takes that way, 
Half clothed, half fed and nought instead 

But poverty and shame. 
Who would have thought she would come to that ? 

This once light-hearted Jane. 

This case is not the only one 

As facts are clearly shown, 
Which proves the need of mission work 

That should be done at home, 
Their name it is ''legion," 

I am bold to maintain, 
That fellow in the foot-steps 

Of this misdirected Jane. 

Her step is slow and faltering, 

Her once brown hair is gray. 
The brilliancy has left her eye 

Its wont in a former day. 
For all this weary, wasted life 

There nothing does remain 
But the "poorhouse" and the "graveyard" 

For this poor, wretched Jane. 

Ye people of humanity. 

This appeal is unto you, 
Ye believers in Christianity, 

What would you better do? 



84 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Send yout money to the '^ heathen" 

To perpetuate your name, 
And leave to die unheeded 

Some poor, sin-reeking Jane. 

A SAD TRUTH. 

WHEN I was young, a song I sung 
Of one I called ''The Beautiful 
Jane." 
And took the view, as many do. 

Society was much to blame. 
That each one given an equal show 
Of what to do, and where to go. 
There would be none 'twould fall so low 
But what they could arise again. 

A declaration in ''Our Constitution" 

Saying "all are born equal and free." 
Then all would advance with an equal chance. 

All would attain to the same degree. 
As some "wise sage" has put in rhyme, 
"Education forms the common mind, 
As the twig is bent so the tree's inclined." 
But not every twig grows to a tree. 

We understand, and its a simile grand. 
To compare mankind to the forest trees. 

Some grow in height most out of sight. 
With some no higher than your knees. 

You may take that little dwarfing shrub. 



A SAD TRUTH 85 

You may prune and prop, manure and rub, 
You'll make nothing but a stunted scrub, 
A dwarf it was and a dwarf 'twill be. 

With this simile of shrub and tree, 

We will turn our thoughts to the human kind, 
We find them staged in every grade. 

In looks, in shape, in morals, mind. 
Some do ''right" because they know it's best, 
Some are restrained by the law's request. 
Some with the D — 1 do seem possessed, 

And you might as well talk to the wind. 

But sad, alas this curious class 

To admonitions pay little heed, 
But think that they must have their way. 

No matter where that way may lead. 
They will listen to what you have to say. 
And often promise to obey. 
But when temptation comes their way 

They fall to some disgraceful deed. 

What can be done for such a one? 

Here "Ephraim's" case is surely shown. 
"Joined to their idols" every one, 

They only wish to be let alone. 
Then what can church, or society do 
When good advice is not barkened to? 
If an evil course they will pursue 

All the fault is just their own. 



86 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

AN ADVERTISEMENT WRITTEN FOR 
JEWELER HUBBARD. 

YOU have heard of my aunt, to the table who 
went, 
But found nothing there for her Tike; 
I have plenty to spare, of jewelry ware 
Be sure, I'll not serve you the like. 

But, come one and all and give me a call, 
I can serve you with most everything, 

From a nice little locket, for your breast or your 
pocket, 
A watch, a chain, or a ring. 

I do general repairs, and my prices are fair. 
Should you wish to learn anything more. 

You will find C. J. Hubbard to the ''Sifter" near 
neighbored 
Just across from G. G. Smith's store. 

LINES WRITTEN FOR A FRIEND 'S BIRTH- 
DAY CALENDAR. 

WE know the pond must needs run dry 
Without an inward flowing. 
There sure must be a new supply 
To keep the stream a-going. 
And thus it is throughout our days 
For comfort, honor, or financial ways, 
We only reap the crop we raise 
From our continuous sowing. 



AN ANSWER 87 

AN ANSWER (ON RECEIVING A ''FOR- 
GET-ME-NOT" CARD) TO A FRIEND. 

WHEN the Sun forgets to shine, 
Or the Moon to sail the skys, 
And the Stars shall close their eyes, 
In sleep, awaking not. 
Or when time shall cease to be — 
That time allotted you and me — 
If that shall end fond memory, 
Then, only then, thou 'It be forgot. 



IDLE DREAMINGS. 

Written for Mrs. J. A. 

HERE is a fact, we must admit, 
A view by best of critics held, 
Whenever a new strange face is met 
We are either attracted or repelled. 



T 



Sometimes our judgment plays us wrong, 
And time may prove a better test. 

But take the matter all in all 

Our first impressions are the best. 

How sweet it is on life's highway 
To meet a friend, before unknown. 

And feel that in that bosom lay 
A heart responsive to our own. 

Or, in other words to put the case, 
Among the herd of various kinds 



88 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

To meet and greet a stranger face 
And find ourselves of kindred minds. 

Such seems the case when first we met, 

With only thoughts of purity, 
May the "Star" that rose then, never set: 

That Star that shines for you and me. 

That winning way, and gentle smile 

A modern Venus might display. 
A less firm spirit might beguile 

To leave the ''straight and narrow way." 

What regal heights we might attain — 
What paths of pleasure might display 

If it were not for those little *'Ifs" 
That are eternally in the way. 

IF my only bonds were ''LIBERTY BONDS," 

IF you also were single and free, 
IF age and aims all correspond. 

One path might do for you and me. 

But the hand of fate has set the seal. 

Like the ocean's bounds that can't be passed, 
But minds will know, and hearts can feel 

The "Lost Chord" while memory lasts. 

Now do not think me "daffy" sprung 

Or charge my muse with to much meaning. 



THAT FEMALE MOSES 89 

It might have been when I was young, 
But now it's only idle dreaming. 

May peace and pleasure be your lot, 

Are your ''rhyming friend's" best wishes. 

Since we stood slipping in the slop 
To do the diners' dinner dishes. 

THAT FEMALE MOSES. 

IN Breezyville, so runs the tale 
Where brooklets wind, and pathways trail, 
In humble cot within the vale 
(So the narrative discloses) 
A woman dwelt, more dark than fair, 
With coal-black eyes and nut-brown hair 
A self -installed law-giver there, 
A regular female Moses. 

Above the rest her voice is heard, 
All others' talk she deems absurd, 
And is bound to have the closing word 

On all important matters. 
'Twas always thus since she was young. 
Whatever crowd she chanced among, 
No one escaped her fiery tongue 

However much her betters. 

On all occasions she claims to know 
The way that everything should go. 
And none escapes her, high or low. 



90 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Sparing not age, sex or condition. 
The Angel Gabriel clothed in white 
She'd make to appear as black as night; 
Satan himself would take to flight 

Before he'd stand her competition. 

She loves to sing and dance and flirt, 
She'd rather run the streets than work, 
And fain the neighboring lads would court 

With infernal giggling. 
On all occasions you'll find her there 
From the kitchen-hop to the house of prayer, 
No water- wagtail can compare 

In teetering and wiggling. 

Her marriage vow she holds so loose 
Like a garment only called in use, 
And laid aside when she should choose 

Her pleasure gratifying. 
A man to such a creature wed 
With half his senses in his head 
Would wish he was already dead, 

Or very near his dying. 

Of all good things she claims a share 

Of everything there is to spare, 

In a place where angels would not dare, 

Her courage don't forsake her. 
But, as it is, perhaps it's well 
That she on earth is allowed to dwell. 
For when she knocks at the door of hell 

The Devil will not take her. 



THE WITCH STORIES 91 

THE WITCH STORIES GRANDMOTHER 
TOLD. 

OFOR a glimpse of childhood days, 
When all the world was fresh and new, 
When everything that met the view 
Seemed to reflect with golden rays, 
Or tinged with the sunbeams' hue. 

The hills, the rocks, the towering trees, 
The brook meandering through the dell, 

The lightning's glare, the sighing breeze 

And many things akin to these 

Held my childish mind with a curious spell. 

But, of all the things my senses stirred 

Which made my youthful blood run cold, 
Was listening close to every word 
Of the strangest tales that were ever heard 
Were those my mother's mother told. 

Things have met with a change outright 

Within a hundred years' space. 
Ghost and goblins have sank from sight. 
Old "superstitions" are put to flight. 

While new ones take their place. 

Its a matter of history, sad to relate. 

It comes down to us in sketches 
Of many people who met their fate 
Of death, in a New England state. 

For being accused as witches. 



92 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Ah, many a time, I must confess, 

Seated on the floor by my mother's chair 
My little bare feet wrapped in her dress, 
I've listened with such eagerness 
To tales that fairly raised my hair. 

The following tales, now understand 

Are not designed for idle show; 
As I received them ''right first hand" 
From one who lived, and knew of them 
More than a hundred years ago. 

The Pigs. 

When I was a little girl, 

My father owned a farm; 
There was much to do for every one 

To feed and keep us warm. 
I had four great big brothers. 

And this was all their names: 
Benjamin, and Joseph, 

Lemuel, and James. 

Besides there were five sisters. 

And a jolly lot were we; 
There was Keziah, and Calista, 

And Susan Jane, and me. 
My name was Sally, 

Next to me little Dorothy came, 
But we always called her Rothy 

To shorten up the name. 



THE WITCH STORIES 93 

That was in the days of witches, 

And many were around, 
'Twas said they'd fly right through the sky 

On broom-sticks o'er the town. 
They did all sorts of wicked things 

Nobody could tell why 
If they got provoked at the neighboring folks, 

Some of their stock would die. 

A strange family lived near by us, 

And a queer "old jade" she was. 
She kept no light in her house at night ; 

But we never knew the cause. 
The people had their opinion though 

But were not certain which 
Whether in league with the evil one, 

Or whether she was a witch. 

Brother Joseph had a mamma hog 

That had a bunch of pigs. 
And this old hag she wanted one 

Before they were very big, 
And Joseph he just told her 

She could have one any day, 
But not a pig would he let go 

Without he got his pay. 

Then she cocked up her hateful head 

And this she did reply: 
' ' If you don 't give me one of them pigs 

The whole 'darned lot' will die." 



94 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Then brother Joseph told her 

"If I catch you prowling 'round, 

And putting poison in my pen, 
I'll put you in the pound." 

''Ha, ha, ha," said the old witch, 

' ' If you wish to stump me to it 
I guess you'll find if I have a mind 

There are other ways to do it." 
And sure enough next morning 

There was a rumpus in the pen; 
Then out went father and out went mother, 

And out went Joe and Ben. 

And there was two of his best pigs 

From side to side a-reeling, 
Throwing up their heads in great distress. 

And squealing, squealing, squealing. 
Then backwards go a yard or so 

Then falling on their side. 
But trying in vain to rise again 

Kicked their little feet and died. 

"I will tell you, Joe, just what to do," 

That is just what father said, 
"When another pig is taken sick 

Just knock it in the head. 
That will put a stop to something. 

For I really must insist 
The Devil works in female skirts 

That 's responsible for this. ' ' 



THE WITCH STORIES 95 

That very day Joe passed that way, 

And to the door she come, 
And grinning said how many are dead, 

Don't you wish you'd given me one. 
Then he turned 'round with an awful frown 

Saying, ''I'll tell you what is what," 
Next time a pig is taken sick 

I'll kill it on the spot. 

She knew what that meant, so in she went 

And never said a word 
About the pig she had talked so big 

No more was ever heard. 
So eight pigs got the feed of ten, 

No great loss after all, 
They fatted nice and for a good price 

Joseph sold them in the fall. 

The Toad. 

Things kept along in their usual way 

All quiet like and well 
When something happened mysteriously 

The cause 'twas hard to tell. 
Unless it was that queer old jade, 

For it was of constant use 
To lay all blame of mischief made 

To her for a better excuse. 

She was not old as the term implies, 
May be about thirty years. 



96 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Most everybody called her old, 

She was so awfully queer. 
She'd a little girl about five years old 

And a husband, a lazy lout' 
Who had plenty of time to fish and hunt 

But none for working out. 

The strange thing happened when getting our 
hay, 

The time I do not just recall 
For haying time lasted from about July 

Till some time very late in the fall. 
Father and the boys cut all the hay; 

And it had to be done by hand. 
As for a mowing machine in that day 

There was not one in the land. 

We girls had all the spreading to do 

So to give it a chance to dry; 
Sometimes it was done by the other two girls 

And sometimes by Keziah and I. 
What pleasure it was when our stent was done 

In the shade of the old elm to lie, 
And watch the deep rolling Connecticut 

As it went swirling by. 

Another thing that pleased us so much 
When the mowers their swath had done. 

By the music they made when sharpening their 
blade 
By a little long queer looking stone. 



THE WITCH STORIES 97 

Then away they would mow as fast as they could 
Till the sound of the dinner bell rung, 

Then they would hie, leaving the grass to dry 
In the rays of the bright summer sun. 

There came a morn of a beautiful day 

The sun shone bright and clear, 
Dispelling the dew of the night which grew 

Like jewels on each tiny spear. 
Then to the hay field all repaired 

And the very best grass was mowed. 
And father declared, if our lives were spared 

We should get in half a dozen loads. 

As Joseph was passing the old witch's home, 

She said to him, "Joe, I will bet 
You will not get all that hay in the barn 

Without it's getting pretty wet." 
Then answered he, "Now, Mistress Nab, 

Folks have a right to do 
With things and cares of their own affairs 

Without consulting you." 

"Ha, ha, ha, you young upstart, 

You had better go ahead 
And when you are as wet as a drowned rat 

You may think of what you've said." 
We raked, and tumbled, pitched and drew. 

Yet a lot was lacking still ; 
When big black clouds appeared in view 

'Way over the western hill. 
7 



98 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

All then laid to with might and main, 

Improving every moment's time, 
On, on it came, clouds filled with rain; 

And lightning flashing very fine. 
Each peal of thunder shook the earth ; 

Each one seemed louder, clearer. 
The rain had struck the mountain tops, 

And still was getting nearer. 

The last fork-full was on the load, 

And soon the barn must reach. 
But when the oxen were asked to go 

They could not budge an inch. 
Then Joe yelled, and whipped, and swore. 

All effort proved in vain, 
The cattle pulled till they could pull no more, 

And nearer came the rain. 

They put their shoulders to the wheels. 

And lifted on the load. 
But no human effort could prevail 

To start it on the road. 
Then Joe stepped back behind the team 

To unhitch it from the load; 
"What should be sitting on the neap 

But a curious little toad! 

Then Joseph, he drew up his whip. 

And this is what he said: 
"Get out of this, you little cuss, 

Or I'll knock you in the head. 



THE WITCH STORIES 99 

The little toad just jumped away, 
And the oxen were asked to start; 

Straight to the barn they drew that hay 
As if 'twere an empty cart. 

'Twas then the rain came pouring down, 

And we received no harm; 
But we all knew as well as we wanted to 

"Where that little toad came from. 

The Bumble-Bee. 

A just reward awaits us all; 

All secret acts must needs be known, 
We can't escape the final call 
If in virtues ways or sinful thrall 

We shall reap what we have sown. 

Folks don't always get their deserts here, 

But will when life is past ; 
So this old witch who gave so much fear 
Death put an end to her career 

In a curious way at last. 

That spring she had played many a trick 

As plenty of people would declare; 
They had seen her at night astride a broom-stick 
With her streaming hair so long and thick, 
And like a bird flying through the air. 



100 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Such things as that I have never seen, 

But there were some said they did know 
Down in Old Salem they got so mean 
The authorities caught and hung fourteen, 
And that put a stop to their acting so. 

One beautiful day in summer time 

The golden month of leafy June, 
The fields they smiled, the south winds sighed, 
The old witch was about to take a ride 

This time not on a broom. 

Her little girl came running out 

Into the middle of the road she sped. 
Her unkempt hair falling all about 
And screaming loud as she could shout. 
Saying that her ma was dead. 

A few women went, as a neighborly act, 
And such a sight they then espied ; 

There lay the woman on her back 

To all appearance dead in fact 

With mouth and eyes distended wide. 

Camphor, and peppermint were brought. 
And every means they did possess. 

For she was in a fit they thought, 

So all restoratives were brought 
To bring her back to consciousness. 



THE WITCH STORIES 101 

In vain they worked for about an hour; 

And some were about to leave the house 
Giving up a task beyond their power 
When a bumble-bee came through the door 

And made straight for her mouth. 

With sunbonnets and aprons they whipped him 
out, 

Which seemed at first a task in vain, 
For as often as he was put to rout 
So often would he turn about, 

And renew the siege again. 

After a time they made him quit, 
By constant effort firm and strong 

Twice did he nearly reach her lips; 

It seemed a devil from the lower pit 
Was urging him along. 

At last the bee was overcome 

And flew away to return no more ! 
But as it left it gave a hum 
Enough to break the heart of a stone 
As he passed out through the door. 

Soon as the bee had been deposed 

They then repaired to the woman's bed; 
They found her fast in death's repose, 
Her mouth was shut, her eyes were closed; 
In fact she was surely dead. 



102 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

And so that ended her career, 

The strangest woman 'twas ever known, 
Around her grave they shed no tear, 
And neighbors breathed with far less fear 

When they knew that she was gone. 

The Gray Mare. 

NOW here is a story, as told by grand- 
mother. 
Though the facts in the case she 
claimed not to know 
But was taken as truth, like many another. 
For no one disputed but what it was so. 

Once there was a man who lived in the country, 
A nicer young fellow was rare to be found. 

Single, and handsome, and money in plenty. 
And highly respected by every one 'round. 

A steady, industrious, and hard-working farmer. 

Was always at church when Sabba-day came; 

Most of the girls would have "jumped" at his 

offer 

But those that would catch him, set their 

''caps" all in vain. 

There was an old witch who lived as an neighbor. 
Although she was married she cared not a 
straw. 

To win his affections, used every endeavor 
Regardless of honor, of justice, or law. 



THE WITCH STORIES 103 

One day while out walking he happened to meet 
her, 

And she in love 's language presented her case ; 
Like Potiphar's wife to young Joseph in Egypt, 

When like a true man, just laughed in her face. 

Saying, ''What is the use of all this 'fool talk- 
ing'? 
And you another man's wife; it is true 
There are plenty of girls, if I wished could be 
courting, 
Then why prefer a married woman like you ? ' ' 

"I know that I'm married, but that's hardly 
worth speaking. 
Concerning my husband, there's nothing to 
fear, 
I can give him a powder that will put him asleep- 
ing, 
So when he awakes, he will not be here." 

"In spite of the crime, all murder discarding, 
From the ban of the law your neck might go 
free. 
How do I know but when sick of your bargain 
But that the same means might be measured 
to me? 

"And now, wretched woman, go home to your 
husband 
And give no thought to defiling his bed. 



104 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

My soul sinks with horror at such a suggestion. 
To live with such a woman, man better be 
dead/' 

''Well, do as you please,'' she said, ''you'll re- 
pent it, 
It has been for your good, all I've said, it is 
true, 
The time is approaching and you can 't prevent it, 
When I'll have satisfaction and revenge upon 
you." 

Then bestriding a broom-stick, with which she'd 
been walking. 
Away she went like a bird through the air, 
'Twas the first intimation that he had been talk- 
ing 
With a "tarnal old witch" that he had met 
there. 

In just a few nights to his room she came creep- 
ing 
With her enchanted bridle to throw o'er his 
head. 
He did not awake but kept right on sleeping. 
But as a young horse he arose from his bed. 

She mounted his back, and away they went flying 
O'er hedges and ditches till they came to a 
fence ; 



THE WITCH STORIES 105 

There to a post she securely then tied him 
Near the place where the witches were having 
a dance. 

And there he must stand without blanket or 
shelter 
Till their orgies and frolics and dances were 
done, 
When out she would come, and unhitching the 
halter. 
Then away she would ride to his own quiet 
home. 

And many a night the voyage was repeated 
Till his feet they were sore, and his hands they 
were cracked. 
His eyes they were sunken, his strength was de- 
pleted. 
And a serious sore appeared on his back. 

He quickly discovered his health was fast failing, 

And unless counteracted he surely must die, 
So he sought out a witch to see if she could tell 
him 
Of some means or measure through which he 
could try. 

Now the witches had an ''order" that bound 
them together. 
On most of occasions would loyal remain, 



106 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

But where money was pending, like many an- 
other 
Sometimes would step over for the sake of the 
gain. 

Then after great pains, and search through the 

border, 

When almost disheartened a baldam was found, 

Who though being loyal, and true to the order 

Would yield him the secret for twenty good 

pound. 

She told him the secret was not such a riddle. 
That any one could use it as well as a witch; 

That it all consisted in the use of the bridle 
By an novice or expert, it made no matter 
which. 

And this she demanded before granting the se- 
cret 
This one thing imperative must be understood, 
He must never divulge from whom he received it. 
And must sign such a contract in drops of his 
blood. 

This one hundred dollars, few incentives can 
beat it, 

In most of transactions it plays a great part. 
That was the factor that won out the secret. 

That was the factor that won the hag's heart. 



THE WITCH STORIES 107 

And this is the secret, says the old woman, 
When the contract was signed, and receiving 
her pay, 

*'No witch has the power to harrass a human 
Unless it is done through an indirect way. 

''The mischief is done through her enchanted 

bridle 

And if you could manage to make a transfer, 

You'd return to your manhood without any 

trouble. 

And at the same time make a horse out of her. ' ' 

Then homeward he went without hesitation, 
Upon hopes and fears alternately fed; 

To conjure some plan that should prove his sal- 
vation. 
Feeling less in his pocket, but more in his head. 

So often he'd been on her nightly excursions 
He knew every rod of the mystical ground. 
But, by light of the day with all diligent search- 
ing 
Not a trace of the place, or the road could be 
found. 

In less than a week the trip was repeated. 
And 'er that lone road she continued her ride. 

Till they came to the place without blanket or 
feeding 
To the same picket post securely was tied. 



108 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

And while the witches were holding their revel, 

He with a little 'horse-sense" was devising a 

plan. 

By the aid of the post he rubbed off his halter, 

And straightway returned to the former young 

man. 

Then with the bridle, he stepped in a corner, 
Abiding the time when she should appear, 

Then quick as a flash he just slipped it on her. 
And there stood the "old witch" a great 
handsome gray mare. 

He mounted her back, and away then he rode her 
Over hills and through country he never had 
known. 
The siui was now shining, the dewdrops were 
sparkling, 
Of all that he met he inquired for his home. 

He met an old farmer, with his horse out quite 
early 
Who took a great fancy to his handsome gray 
mare, 
That after some talk he stumped him out 
squarely 
How he would trade for his horse, then and 
there. 

The young man, he said, he would not care to 
sell her. 
For she in the past so faithful had been 



THE WITCH STORIES 109 

But, as he seemed to be an honest good fellow, 
For one hundred dollars he would trade her 
to him. 

The horses were changed, the money was counted, 
The farmer was pleased for his trade seemed 
so fair. 
* ' Good-bys ' ' were exchanged, the young man was 
soon mounted 
But, the bridle was left on the handsome gray 
mare. 

"By gum," said the farmer, ''I'll go down to 
the smithy, 

For really in fact, this mare should be shod. 
I think I'll go now, it will not take a jiffy, 

She is not fit to work or travel a rod. 

The smith he was ready to oblige the old farmer, 
So with nails and hammer he bustled around. 

The farmer he noticed, when the shoes were 
nailed on her 
That tears from her eyes came trickling down. 

He put her in his barn, then went to a neighbor 
To brag of his trade so exceedingly fair, 

When dinner-time came, he went out to feed her. 
But, never saw more his handsome gray mare. 

That night on his bed, her husband lay sleeping, 
Was waked by a thumping outside of his door, 



110 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

When he 'rose and unfastened, just judge of 
his feelings 
When there stood his wife half covered with 
gore. 

To both hands and feet great horseshoes were 
clinging, 
And blood from each nail-hole ran pitilessly 
down, 
Faint and exhausted and powerless for speaking, 
From a husband she'd wronged, a shelter was 
found. 

She held up her poor hands to show her condi- 
tion, 
He then brought her in and laid her on her 
bed, 
With all possible speed he called a physician 
Who took off the shoes, and bandaged instead. 

From that fatal night of awful exposure 
And terrible torture, and loss of her blood 

That had been drained since she left the farmer 
Few human beings could have ever withstood. 

She never again, health fully recovered. 

No more of her witchcraft was known to have 
tried, 

Nor more troubled the man she had bothered, 
But in a few years, she faded and died. 



TO MRS. ELLEN WILLIAMS 111 
TO MRS. ELLEN WILLIAMS. 

This ' ' homely inelegant ' ' little poem was written 
when the author was keeping house alone, Mrs. Ballou 
being gone at the time, to care for her sick mother. 
And a kind neighbor, wishing to help Mr. B. out in his 
''larder," sent him a dish of beans, nicely cooked. So 
he wrote the poem as a receipt and thanks for the same, 
and sent her. 

MY Dear Mrs. Ellen, if you can 
Imagine a weary, thirsty man 
With hope of succor, understand, 
Just beyond his means, 
Or a shipwrecked seaman, in a desert place. 
With a hunger staring him in the face. 
Just think of him and you'll hit my case 
When you sent that dish of beans. 

For each kind act, so says our Lord, 

Shall be clipped of its reward, 

So each should strive with quick accord 

To do as duty seems. 
But, more than this, your generous aid 
Perhaps a worthless life has staid, 
Which by my thanks seems poorly paid 

For that charming dish of beans. 

Last night while wrapped in balmy sleep. 
No pangs of hunger did 'round me creep. 
But — ah, such visions, grand and sweet, 

Such stimulating dreams — 
I saw great kettles used for bowls 



112 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

For the choicest victuals tongue e'er rolls 
And filled as full as they could hold 
"With delicious pork and beans. 

But, soon a cow; I will call my own 
And soon sweet milk will cheer my home, 
I would not enjoy it all alone, 

No, not by any means; 
So when you wish to cool your tea 
Don't be afraid to call on me, 
For I, only too glad will be 

To repay that Dish of Beans. 

THOSE TWO LITTLE BRYNES. 

THOSE iwo little Byrnes, it seems some- 
times 
I would really love to trim 'em. 
So much they cry were they to die 

There 'd be little of their music left in 'em. 

Most every day, the hideous way 

In which those children yell. 
You'd think Old Nick had got them slick. 

And was dragging them down to — well 

No matter where, so long as there 

Is no hope of their leaving here ; 
Yet I confess it may be best 

To make the time less drear. 



FRIENDSHIP 113 

A story is told of ''Selkirk" of old 
Who of solitude dreadfully whines, 

I think it's a fact he would rather retract 
After a visit from those two little Brynes. 

They don't mean any hurt, those two balls of 
dirt, 

For they far rather cry than to laugh. 
Look them in the face no intelligence you '11 trace 

More than that in a newly born calf. 

Now to state matters brief we wish for relief, 

Yet no one premeditates ''crimes," 
In devotion we call God pity us all 

Who lives near those two little Brynes. 

FRIENDSHIP. 

TIIO' lost to sight to memory dear," 
How sweet the thought in this we find 
It breathes so much of my own career 
I could not help but place it here 
Tho' some untruthfully declares 
Out of sight is out of mind. 

Such sentiment is hardly fair 

As oft in cases of lovers found 
When one to the silent grave they bear 
The other's heart seems buried there; 
No other's charms will they ever share, 

But live out their listless life alone. 



8 



114 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

There is a friendship lasting, long, 

Unmindful of the lapse of years 
Firm, unselfish, true and strong 
Without a motive base or wrong 
Never expressed by human tongue, 

Or sealed by sighs and tears. 

There is a deed friendship supplies 

To which all earthly acts transcend 
Throughout this world of sin and strife 
"Where right is rare and wrong is rife. 
When a man is known to have given his life 
To save that of a friend. 

Out of sight, forgotten? No. 

Few perchance, I trust there be; 
While many their silent tears do flow 
For absent friends they've cherished so 
And dear ones in the grave laid low 

They never more will see. 

0, friend of my young manhood days. 

When youth and vigor decked each brow, 
Tho' fifty years have passed away 
Those eyes are dim and the hair is gray 
And the fire of youth does in ashes lay. 
Can I forget you now? 

No ; never till the time shall come 

That cold, white death shall cease my thought 
My eyes are closed, my lips are dumb, 



HAND THAT MAKES NO MISTAKES 115 

The heart is stilled, life's duty done 
And laid to rest in the cold, dark tomb, 
Then, only then thou It be forgot. 

Yet, there's a hope our hearts to cheer 
Which much dispels this earthly gloom 

When we are through with all partings here; 

When death's envoy can give no fear; 

And eyes are dry of the mourner's tear 
We shall meet beyond the tomb. 

APROPOS, ''THE HAND THAT MAKES NO 
MISTAKES." 

A POETICAL friend some lines have 
penned, 
And a fine illustration she makes. 
To show there's a hand directing each plan 
''The hand that makes no mistakes." 

It appears if this mean the Being Supreme, 
As the subject at once presupposes; 

In Deuteronomy we find, verse fourteen, chapter 
nine, 
What Jehovah declared unto Moses. 

If God sorely repented of what he'd invented, 
And sick of the works of which he had done. 

And wished "to put screws" to his chosen The 
Jews, 
What must he think of the merciless HUN? 



116 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

THE DOOR KNOB FRIEND. 

HOW sweet it is in this frigid world 
Where heaps of trouble surround us 
all, 
To see a ray of sunshine through 

While storms of hailstone 'round us fall. 
But sweeter far unto the mind, 

To which all other thoughts transcend, 
It is to know in this world of woe 
We have a constant, faithful friend. 

There are friends, and friends, all sorts of 
friends 

From the false unto the true, 
And some pretend they are a friend 

And care for none but you. 
But take it when your back is turned 

Their devotion takes a ^'jog," 
They quick incline to some other shrine. 

They are everybody's dog. 

Then there are some that always come 

(As by keeping 'Hab" reveals) 
Through no intent, just by accident 

Just a little before meals. 
Then again the tests contain 

Others who come our way. 
Nor considering the facts our time is taxed, 

They wish to be urged to stay. 



THE DOOR KNOB FRIEND 117 

But, of all the friends creation lends, 

Of which a home is blessed or cursed 
Whose only use is to peddle news 

The ''Door Knob friend" is far the worst. 
They'll come and say they can not stay, 

But gradually working to the door 
There they'll stand, with knob in hand 

And talk for an hour, or more. 

They're sure to leave ajar the door 

Till the last bit story is told, 
The baby sitting on the floor 

Might take his death a-cold. 
In bolts the dog, out darts the cat, 

And the frightened baby yells. 
While the industrious fly comes buzzing by 

To inspect the pantry shelves. 

The meat is scorched, the biscuits burned, 

The potatoes boiling dry. 
And while the mother soothes her *'kid" 

The visitor says ''good-by. " 
The motherly dame dares not complain 

For fear to give offence. 
And the innocent caller walks away 

As a natural consequence. 

Some might say, whose patience may 
Have borne till they can't bear more, 

''Pray, what are you 'bout, walk in or walk out, 
But, for heaven's sake, shut that door." 



118 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

And now 'twould seem, this is no dream 

Nor false impressions lend. 
May the God we trust deliver us 

From a gossiping Door Knob friend. 



THREE PRETTY WOMEN. 

HREE pretty women all sat in a row; 

Three pretty women three, 
And this I know within that row 
The prettiest one was thee, my dear, 
The prettiest one was thee. 



T 



Now desire is one, and duty's one, 

So it appears to me, 
If I should wish to give you a kiss, 

I should have to kiss all three, my dear, 
I should have to kiss all three. 

And so I'll wait till we separate. 

When no one's nigh to see, 
And what then would be given them 

I will lavish all on thee, my dear, 
I will lavish all on thee. 

This mixing drink isn't good I think. 

To this you will agree, 
As long as I live, whatever I give 

I will give it all to thee, my dear, 
I will give it all to thee. 




"But the sweetest thing m}- soul can sing, 
Is sweetest praise of thee, my dear," 



NELLIE NICKERSON 119 

Let poets sing their praise of spring, 

And drinkers rant with glee, 
But the sweetest thing my soul can sing 

Is sweetest praise of thee, my dear. 
Is sweetest praise of thee. 



I 



NELLIE NICKERSON. 

"WILL relate the whims of fate, 

Which comes so oft to many a one, 
About a maid of the finest grade 
Whose name was Nellie Nickerson. 



With a face and hair, few could compare, 
Blithe as the birds whose notes she sung, 

And truth to tell, they loved her well 
Who knew this Nellie Nickerson. 

She had a beau, as many girls do. 

Who would hardly pass as a gentleman, 

Who kept so close he was called her ghost 
He wed this Nellie Nickerson. 

A tree though fair, bitter fruit may bear. 
There's many a promising life undone, 

So sad to say, one ill timed day 
He wed this Nellie Nickerson. 

This "worthless dog" he loved his grog, 
And often staggering home would come, 

Holding more dear his love for beer 
Than that for Nellie Nickerson. 



120 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

In each respect he did neglect 

To care for her as he should have done, 
And ere long, things all went wrong 

With him and his Nellie Nickerson. 

Then, home she came to her mother again, 
To care for herself and her 'kittle one,'' 

Prom day to day she worked away, 
This homeless Nellie Nickerson. 

Through a proper course she got divorce 
For pure neglect, and love of rum, 

With averted eye they pass her by. 
This lonely Nellie Nickerson. 

A short time remained, ere she wed again 
To an honest, poor, hard-working one. 

But never again was she the same 
Light-hearted Nellie Nickerson. 

Lord Tennyson, in his beautiful verse, 
(The most of which I don't recall) 

Says, ' ' 'Twere better to have loved and lost. 
Than never to have loved at all." 

But if the same involves our name. 
Or causes our reputation's fall 

By alluring Cupid's pleasing strain, 

'Twere better never to have loved at all. 



THE VICIOUS RAILROAD TRAIN 121 

Now, let me say in a modest way, 
Mind well your steps, as on you go, 

What you suppose is a harmless rose, 
May prove a cruel thorn of woe. 

THE VICIOUS RAILROAD TRAIN. 

THERE is a story few have heard, 
About a certain railroad train. 
Some may say it is absurd, 
That such events couldn't have occurred; 
A mystery now it must remain. 



In a certain town there is a plain 

With a rolling river running through. 
Where the Rutland Road its tracks maintain, 
Where many a freight, and passenger train 
Cut the flat, and some other things in two. 

Above the flat is an incorporate town, 
That try to ape a city's practice, 

A place well known for miles around 

And bears a name of high renown 
For high schools, and high taxes. 

The people there feel very wise. 

And would make you think so, if they can. 
Are very curt in their replies, 
And try to convince the other "guys" 

That they are much the smartest man. 



122 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

And many a man from far and nigh, 
Who having a goodly ''pile" acquired, 

Have come down there a home to buy; 

In a little while they droop and die. 

There's a few more now that might be spared. 

But I'll dismiss that matter here, 
From further facts will now refrain, 

Suffice to say that every year 

They vote ''No License" straight and clear, 
But have their whiskey, just the same. 

There are some things man 's hands have wrought. 

No heart, or brain do they possess. 
Simply machines, for a purpose sought 
Yet seem possessed of human thought, 
And also human cussedness. 

For many a time we understand 

That engines, and other machines have been 
Known to reach as far as they can 
In order to get hold of a man 

And crush the life right out of him. 

Mr. Longfellow the thought reveals 

In two of his beautiful lines, like those, 

"She starts; she moves; she seems to feel 

A thrill of life along her keel," 

As tho' a ship was a thing that knows. 



THE VICIOUS RAILROAD TRAIN 123 

Those railroad trains, I do believe 

Whene'er they chance to take a mind 
That some dog or cow ought to be squeezed, 
A streak of lightning properly greased 
Would come in second, far behind. 

No creature stepped upon their track 

Tho' the train was then ten miles away. 
That engine seemed to know the fact, 
And before they've time to hasten back 
In a pile of "mince meat" there they lay. 

So when the tragic scene was passed 

The conductor then the cord would seize, 
Instead of giving the accustomed blast, 
It would gurgle forth in a fiendish laugh 
Like a demon that was greatly pleased. 

Not long ago, I passed those flats. 

And took a look at the ties and rails. 

There was chunks of dogs, and pieces of cats, 

Heads and legs, spines and slats, 
Catties' horns, and teats and tails. 

And further it has been said 

That one George Douglass has got 
Blood, bone and meat, and a phosphate has made 
Without patronizing the ''Wheeler trade" 
Enough for a whole two-acre lot. 



124 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

To disbelieve you are inclined, 

And say this tale is too big for you? 
There is Free-stone Will (a friend of mine) 
Who passed that way about that time 
Who will swear that every word is true. 

ON PRESENTING A DANCE CALL BOOK. 

Sent to Another Brother Fiddler, With 
THE Accompanying Lines. 

THE hand that gave this book to me 
Long, long in the grave hath lain, 
I have prized it less for its usefulness 
Than for the source by which it came. 
And so life's merry dance goes on, 

When I am done, so let it be 
When the Great Prompter halts my last waltz, 
Think much of the book, but more of me. 

THE GROUND HOG. 

1SAW by the papers, some one had said 
''The ground hog ought to be knocked in 
head.'' 
Such talk as that appears to me 
Like much of human philosophy. 
What has the poor woodchuck done 
That could have injured any one? 
That is, by any change of weather 
Do we not suffer alike together? 



THE GROUND HOG 125 

Sometimes in summer, it often seems 
He loves to dine from off our beans. 
But that's no more than man will do 
When he has an opportunity to. 

When he comes out, and looks around 

And sees his shadow on the ground, 

(Let me revise a word or two) 

Sees his shadow on the snow, 

And then returns into his hole 

Doing nothing about the cold. 

Only shows the ground hog is more wise 

Than the two-legged hogs of a larger size. 

For, at least he knows enough to stay 

Till symptoms of a warmer day 

On his leafy bed, so snug and warm, 

Saying, ''What fools are men to breast the 

storm. ' ' 
They rub their hands, and kick their toes 
And often freeze their ears and nose. 
And then the hog they will condemn 
For the warning he has given them. 

It's like a story, I have heard 

About the stormy-petrel bird 

Who sailors see his form 

Before the coming of a dreadful storm. 

Instead of a warning for the same 

They seem to think the bird's to blame. 

A vengeful spirit within is stirred, 



126 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

And they call the poor fowl ''the Devil's bird" 
And cast about to find some plan 
"Whereby to kill it if they can. 

Now leaving hogs and birds alone 

Let us bring this matter nearer home, 

What one of us who has a friend 

Who sees some fault we ought to mend, 

And a warning gives of the certain cost 

From passion's storms, or hatred's frost, 

A warning word about the life we lead? 

How little we care, and less we heed 

We know good only is intended 

Yet oft inclined to be offended. 

They are true friends, and so remain. 

But oft get curses for their pains ; 

We hate the source our failings show 

Whether it be from friend or foe, 

When told of some way w^e surely should mend 

'Tis illy received, tho' from a friend. 

Or in other words an old phrase to use. 

We don't like the bird that brings us bad news. 

Since we're so ungrateful to human kin. 

Where does the poor woodchuck 's share come in ? 

But I'll refrain from talking, since 

It may perhaps, be giving offence. 



JUDSON'S VISION 127 

JUDSON'S VISION. 

FROM a hard day's work of sawing wood, 
At an early hour he sought his bed, 
To rest himself as best he could. 
But burning thoughts were in his head. 
He closed his eyes, and tried to sleep. 

Of his anguish there's no telling. 

He often sighed both long and deep. 

And once he whispered ''Ellen." 

He turned himself from side to side 

Hoping some rest to find. 
But waves of thought like evening tide 

Came surging through his mind. 
He thought of future prospects then 

If such should be her will, 
They would live down in the Cook house, 

And he could tend her father's mill. 

Well, then he thought of the widow. 

And the widow's "mites" beside. 
Thought he they are but little mites. 

But full of mighty pride. 
Were I to hitch to such a sort 

No property there would be; 
And she has never learned to work; 

What would become of me? 

But when I see her I confess 
I love her sure and deep, 



nS ECHOES OF MEMORY 

And — she — loves — me — too — I guess. 

And here he fell asleep. 
His mother's clock had just struck 'leven 

In a curious way his fancies led, 
He saw two forms like snowflakes driven 

Descend and bending o'er his bed. 

Both were of the fairest type; 

With but little difference in their size, 
One's nose was turned a little up, 

And the other had glasses on her eyes. 
With drooping eyes they looked at him. 

Then at each other, now 
He felt a quivering of his chin, 

Cold sweat stood on his brow. 

At last one deigned to break the spell. 

With triumph burning high, 
While the other with her apron white 

Wiped a teardrop from her eye. 
Now, says the one with turned-up nose 

And sweet melodious voice, 
''We do not wish to break repose, 

But, Judson, take your choice. 

He caught his breath, with this remark, 
''To decide this thing, I'd rather 

If you can wait a couple of days. 
Till I can talk with mother." 



''OF DUST THOU ART" 129 

''OF DUST THOU ART." 

AN apple stood on the buttery shelf, 
Red cheeked and rosy, full and fair. 
It seemed a thing of life itself 
That nothing could disturb it there. 
I many an admiring look did take 
And loved it for its beauty's sake. 

I chanced to pass the place one day 
And found my beautiful apple gone. 

Some unknown power had wrought decay 
In a body once so full and strong. 

And only left but a dark brown rim 

To mark the place where it had been. 

It is a true but solemn thought 
That nothing mortal can remain, 

That little apple came from naught 
To nothing must return again. 

Thought and care will not suffice 

Our dearest objects fade and dies. 

I had a friend, and who has not — 

It is an easy word to say. 
It may mean little, it may mean much 

It comes convenient either way. 
And he who would that word profane 
Is fit to bear a Judas' name. 

I had a friend. What need I say 
What that friendship meant to me? 
9 



130 ECHOES OP MEMORY 

A substance which one cannot weigh 

Or measure to a certainty. 
And yet no joy appealed to me 
As known in that friend's company. 

We walked and talked and sang together 
As enchanted hours on wings went by, 

So wholly engrossed were we in other 
That neither thought the other could die. 

It 's a blessing, young folks do not know 

Or anticipate the future's woe. 

An open casket I stood beside, < 

And took a long, last look, to see 
The pale white brow, the death-closed eyes 

That nevermore would look on me. 
Those pale blue lips, now cold as stone 
Which I so fondly had pressed my own. 1 

While on that calm, still face I gazed. 
So changed from what it used to be 

The voice, the smile, the pleasant ways 
Came surging back through memory. 

To think that one so young must go — 

It seemed I could not have it so. 

The flowers that decked that coffin lid, 
So full and fragrant, fresh and fair, 

Will soon be withered, wasted, dead. 

Like the heart that rests beneath them there. 



''OF DUST THOU ART" 131 

'Tis nature's law, we can't tell why 
All that's mortal must fade and die. 

I sat beside a grass-grown grave, 

After years of toil and care. 
Pride and joy of departed days 

Back to earth lies mouldering there. 
The story of the apple on the buttery shelf 
On a larger scale repeats itself. 

In a little while I too must go — 
My allotted time is drawing nigh ; 

The voice of nature tells me so, 

To all that's dear must say ''good-by." 

Back to earth from whence I came, 

To dust I shall return again. 

Some declare (and I hope it's so) 

That there's a better world than this, 

Where ' ' the poor in spirit ' ' will surely go 
To enjoy an eternity of bliss. 

Beyond the vale of earthly woes — 

But, alas, nobody knows. 



132 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

THE DANCE AT CLEVELAND, 

OR 

Keep in the Light. 



f I ^HE way they dance at Cleveland 

I It beats the evil one; 

-^ The fathers dance, the mother^ dance, 

The daughters and the son. 
And even the little kiddies 

That can hardly walk about 
Get onto the floor for a 'tango score 

And try to step it out. 

It is not the way they used to dance 

In the days when I was young, 
When two straight rows of girls and beaux 

Upon the floor were strung, 
And that was called a contra-dance, 

Well known in those old times, 
"Not that the girls Avere contrary then," 

But stood in opposite lines. 

Then a sweet tune, the Opera-Reel 

Was struck upon the fiddle. 
The 'head gent down the outside went, 

And the lady down the middle, 
Then back they came to their place again. 

And simply joining hands 
Away they'd canter down the center 

As the time and tune demands. 



THE DANCE AT CLEVELAND 133 

But I'll refrain, more to explain, 

Although three score and ten, 
If they'd dance the way of that former day 

I'd love to try it again. 
Those good old "sets" we'll ne'er forget 

Are nearly all left out, 
While in their place the ''close embrace" 

As they twist, and whirl about. 

It's a favorite recreation 

For whenever there's a chance 
For gathering a congregation. 

They must end it with a dance. 
At any place, and anywhere 

That comes within their reach, 
From the big hotel, so wondrous swell 

To the bungalow by the beach. 

The tango first, a schottishe next. 

With a waltz sandwiched sometimes. 
With tunes all the way from the Devil's Dream 

To the obituary of Old Grimes. 
Time and tune cut but little ''ice'* 

As regards being fast or slow 
But clasped as in an iron vice 

As around and 'round they go. 

With a gentle head on a manly breast 
Love's warm impulse becomes inspired. 

While little Dan Cupid among the rest 
His darts are often fired. 



134 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

But little Dan, like other boys 

Oft shoots his arrows wrong; 
And often the case, in such a place 

His victims do belong. 

On such a time so I've been told, 

A couple met by chance, 
The man seemed fair, the maiden rare 

Who also joined the dance, 
So far so good, it is understood 

While they keep within the light. 
But, sad to say, there's the D — 1 to pay 

When once they're out of sight. 

All things come 'round to those who wait, 

Whether for good or ill, 
Pair cheeks are wet with vain regret 

When Cupid rules the will. 
They danced, and hugged till they weary grew, 

Temptation's law could stand no more. 
The electric light shone all too bright 

And the music was a bore. 

So that night they took a hike 

Down by Lake Erie's shore; 
To watch the waves as they rush and rave, 

And break with awful roar. 
Good resolutions are formed in daylight. 

The will is strong at sunny noon. 
Prudence may leave at the approach of eve, 

Virtue falters beneath the moon. 



THE DANCE AT CLEVELAND 135 

Not strange the moon turns sadly pale 

On beholding such like views, 
For while their hearts were full of love, 

Sand filled up their shoes. 
Break on, wave, with rush and rave. 

No secret tales do you impart, 
Little you care who lingers there 

Or leaves with a broken heart. 

Ah ! many a pair, both young and fair 

Beneath your waves are sleeping, 
Tho' you were the power that laid them there 

You have not the soul for weeping. 
'Twere better to die 'neath the waves to lie. 

Never to arise again 
Than to live a life all ostracized 

Of woe, regret and shame. 

Ah! the joys of love's young dreaming, 

Though Cupid's ways no one can know. 
While his darts all harmless seeming 

Often times are tipped with woe. 
Days grew to weeks, and weeks to months, 

A way that time is wont to do, 
For the sun never stood still but once, 

And that was many long years ago. 

That was when God's chosen people 

Were crushing the peaceful natives down, 

And seemed to lack daylight in fact 
In order to do the thing ''up brown," 



136 ECHOES OP MEMORY 

So Joshua prayed to God for aid, 

(If he was only willing) 
To stop the Sun, on it's daily run 

Till they finished up the "killing/' 

All nature's laws must be reversed 

Prom his original plan. 
Which shows the Maker, and divine Creator 

Was swerved by the will of man. 
There was a great commotion 

With the planets and the stars, 
Saturn got astray in the milky way 

And fighting mad got Mars. 

The IMoon ran against Osiris 

And nearly broke it's horn 
While Jupiter eloped with Venus, 

And didn't get back till morn. 
It caused a great confusion, 

They didn't know where to go. 
The Sun had stopped for a "dog fight," 

So they wandered to and fro. 

Then they 'phoned up to Heaven 

Por asking "What's the matter." 
'Twas as bad a plight, as on Cleveland Heights 

When some "guy" shut off the water. 
Now, it may seem, my humble theme 

Isn't as high as it might have been. 
Yet, I will swear it will compare 

With that of Scripture, or of men. 



THE DANCE AT CLEVELAND 137 

Let all of those who do compose 

In story, or in song, 
Attempt to show the way of woe. 

And try to right the wrong. 
And still the ''merry dance" goes on, 

And Where's the nice young man? 
He's gone away to Canada 

To visit his Uncle Dan. 

Now a year has rolled away 

Since the last depicted scene. 
Many little new faces appear in places. 

And many fresh graves are green, 
And still the throng it moves along 

No time to stop or sigh, 
Showing little mirth at each new birth, 

Or tears when others die. 

In mart or street, where the people meet. 

This girl is often there; 
No part has she in company 

For an infant claims her care, 
AVhile many a beau she used to know, 

(So gallant, and polite) 
Now pass her by with averted eye 

"Whene'er she comes in sight. 

Each lady friend won't condescend 

To even speak to her. 
But treat her worse than some thieving curse 

Or notorious murderer. 



138 ECHOES OP MEMORY 

And treated thus are souls depressed 

In this Christian land of ours, 
While a man named Thaw, a noted outlaw, 

Got sweet bouquets of flowers. 

Come all fair maids of every grade, 

Think, think, before you chide, 
Is there no spot in your earthly lot 

Where you have stepped aside. 
Don't feel so proud amid the crowd 

When there are things unknown,- 
Maybe 'tis true, fortune has favored you 

Far more than acts of your own. 

We creep around like helpless snails. 

On our own strength depending, 
Where one succeeds, another fails, 

All reach one common ending, 
While thus pursuing our weary tasks 

Times constant clock no favors show, 
The grave at last, no questions asks 

But, welcomes all, both high and low. 

MODERN GRIEF. 

ONCE I was young as most any one 
That are born about here now-adays, 
By the lapse of many years, it really now 
appears 
Things have greatly changed in their ways. 



MODERN GRIEF 139 

I was taught when a boy, to rejoice with others' 
joy, 
And to grieve when another had pain. 
There is one thing at least can be said without 
jest, 
But few of that class now remain. 

In the Good Book we're bidden to bear each oth- 
ers' burden, 
But the facts in the case, come to tell, 
This one thing I've learned, as far as grief is 
concerned 
They can bear it for another quite as well. 

It 's a strange thing, I 'm sure, what the heart can 
endure, 
And a matter of considerable surprise, 
That the number that 's distressed when a friend 
is oppressed, 
How few from that cause ever dies. 

Who ever cares a smitch who the D — 1 is in the 
ditch, 
And in trouble, friends are scarce who love to 
share it. 
It is quite the better plan, if you wish to be a 

man. 
Whatever be your trouble, ''grin and bear it." 



140 ECHOES OP MEMORY 

MAY. 

A New England Tale Put in Verse. 

This poem was composed for, and dedicated to Mrs. 
Marion Ballon Fisk, a cartoonist lecturer (a daughter 
of the author). At the time of composing of the poem 
was away in New England on a lecturing tour. 

POETS may sing the praise of the farmer, 
The man of the meadow, the tiller of 
soil, 
He gives little heed to the middleman's clamor. 
But reaps a reward from continuous toil. 

Small his rewards for his labors whatever, 
They claim that his hair with ''hayseed" 
abounds, 
With milk on his bootlegs from the shy Jersey 
heifer, 
Yet he feeds all the world from produce of 
the grounds. 

And now to be brief with this slight introduction. 
He has his successes and sorrows as well; 

From comfortable crops to drought and de- 
struction. 
But, that's not the tale I intended to tell. 

There 's a place on a hill, in a town in New Eng- 
land, 
Where a mowing extended to the valley below. 

With an orchard, and pasture and plentiful 
woodland, 



MAY 141 

And a good set of buildings as farm build- 
ings go. 
And that was the home of an honest old couple, 
With their dog, and their cat their fireside to 
share, 
For that made complete their family circle, 
For the stork on his rounds never visited there. 

But, ! What a change the years have un- 
folded— 
The fields grown with bushes once glistened 
with grain, 
The buildings in ruins, their timbers are moulded, 
If you looked for the people you'd look all 
in vain. 

Contented and happy, though wishing for chil- 
dren 
To cheer their lone way to the ''dark river- 
side," 
While many regret the number that 's given them, 
And claim that the giver has too well supplied. 

We often regret some unfinished duty — 

Some good or bad purpose we meant to fulfill, 

By the stern hand of fate our course is shaped 
surely 
And changes the haven adverse to our will. 

This prosperous farmer had everything plenty 
Of the choicest crops that land would produce. 



142 ECHOES OP MEMORY 

A fine flock of sheep, and cows about twenty, 
And a good pair of horses, that were kept for 
farm use. 

How well I remember, at coming of evening 
The barefooted boy, running up to the house 

More proud than a king, his salary receiving 
Of six cents per week for driving those cows. 

He belonged to that class "that always are with 
us" 
Of whom Jesus made mention, in speaking of 
those, 
That we may do good whenever it pleases, 
Yet, poverty is not the worst of our woes. 

Time and change their toil never ceasing, 
All phases of fate on man to bestow, 

From humblest callings some are increasing 
While high, haughty heads are often laid low. 

But, ho — I have wandered from the yarn I was 
spinning. 
Will try not commit the same error again, 
But now will return to the very beginning, 
And set the wheel running and reel off the 
skein. 

Cold winter was leaving, and spring was return- 
ing; 
Birds warbled a welcome to the sweet month 
of May. 



' MAY 143 

All things were in common from earthly dis- 
cerning 
Save a small band of gypsies were passing 
that way. 

I should mention gypsies. But there's a suspi- 
cion — 
A stitch in my story requires it, of course, 
They're a nomadic people of every description, 
Much given to stealing, and ''swapping the 
horse." 

One night on their couch this old couple were 
lying, 
From a hard day of labor sweet rest to partake, 
When there came a noise, like a small babe a 
crying 
And often repeated ere each was awake. 

The woman woke first, saying, ' ' Pray, what 's the 
matter ? 
And what noise is that and what can it be? 
It sounds like a babe crying out for it 's mother — 
I wish you'd get up, John, and go out and 
see." 

''It's the old Tom Cat, confound his old skin, 
He's always a-yawling and prowling about — 

Wants me to get up and let him come in 

When he can just as well be made to stay out. ' ' 



144 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Then said the woman, "Though never a mother 
I have a mother's emotion the same, 

I wish you'd get up, and try to discover — " 
And while she was speaking the cry came 
again. 

''By gosh," said old John, as he lighted the 
candle 
And pulled on his breeches and bustled around, 
''I was told when a boy that babes come^from 
Heaven, 
But never felt sure that's the way they come 
down. ' ' 

They went to the door, and there stood a package. 

A queer little bundle, whatever it be. 
It looked like a wash woman's work in a basket, 

A basket that came from over the sea. 

They carried it in, and opened the wrappings, 
And what should they find to their awful sur- 
prise 

A wee girl baby, in beads and fine trappings. 
With the tawniest skin, and blackest of eyes. 

They found in the basket also a letter 
"Written in a language neither could know. 

The husband then said they could do nothing 
better 
As they'd got the baby directions might go. 



MAY 145 

Days that followed were days of rejoicing, 
Hearts beat with pleasure in the old farmer's 
home, 
A deed was accomplished they had really no 
voice in. 
They had now got a babe they could call all 
their own. 

We are so constituted by the laws of our being, 
When the shadows grow longer and high-tide 
is o'er. 

We love to see another generation appearing 
To fill up our places when we are no more. 

A cradle was bought, and things were made ready 
For the little newcomer without more delay, 

A nice new name must be found for the baby, 
For the month of her coming, they christened 
her May. 

There is a strange fact in the plan of creation — 
A bit of philosophy we can't understand, 

That even a dog has a keen intuition 

That really surpasses the wisdom of man. 

To see their new treasure, they called in "Old 
Rover," 
Expecting of him she would find a great 
friend, 



10 



146 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

He gave a long howl and rushed for the door 
As though that the D — 1 had kicked him in 
end. 

And then in years after, if she went to caress him 
He raised an objection and rushed out of door. 

Her very presence seemed to distress him 

Till he took leave of absence and came back 
no more. 

The old farmer said in regard to the baby, 
' ' We now have a bud just fresh from the vine, 

We must now educate her to be a great lady. 
For as the twig is bent so the tree is inclined. 

"Croakers may talk of the law of transmission 
That children are apt to follow their kind, 

Good people are brought from every condition; 
Environment is the mortar for moulding the 
mind. 

"Solomon said, for the Bible says so, 
A literal meaning to be placed upon it, 

'Train up a child in the way he should go 
And when he is old he will not depart from it. ' 

"For instance, take parents where vice has been 
reigning 
Till behind prison walls they are hidden from 
sight, 



MAY 147 

You may take their own children and give them 
good training, 
Ninety times in a hundred they '11 come out all 
right." 

He claimed that his daughter was a child of 
great promise, 
Never tiring of talking of the merits of May, 
Often telling his neighbors that they'd be as- 
tonished. 
Yes, indeed, they were, in a different way. 

As the years rolled on she grew fast and pretty, 
With a serpent-like glitter in her beautiful 
eye, 

And those who she met seemed to feel it a duty 
To look at her twice before passing her by. 

The red of her cheeks showed through the dark 

color. 

The raven might envied the glint of her hair; 

With a curious cunning 'twas hard to discover. 

Her ways were as strange as her beauty was 

rare. 

They sent her to school, which availed nothing 
ever. 
She utterly failed in each lesson she took, 
She could mock any bird in the forest or meadow 
But nothing could learn from the leaves of a 
book. 



148 ECHOES OP MEMORY 

Her voice was so sweet they would make her a 
singer, 
For she'd sing any tune she ever had heard; 
They bought her an organ, and procured her a 
teacher. 
But, when it came to lessons she could not sing 
a word. 

Disobedient, and saucy, adverse to all labor, 
A strange weird child mischievous and sly, 

Properly hated by every good neighbor, 

' * A queer little cuss ' ' was their righteous reply. 

She was an expert in the art of stone-throwing, 
Each swiftly hurled pebble went straight to 
the mark, 

A brace of bad boys made but a poor showing, 
And woe to the dog that gave her a bark. 

A sort of Centaur of a late generation 

She could ride any colt she could bridle, in fact 

The neighbors declared without hesitation 
Not a beast on the place, but she'd been on 
their back. 

When sent for the cows at appoaches of evening 

She would hustle them 'round like a demon 

possessed, 

Down through the lane bestride of the hind one, 

With a club in her hand she'd be driving the 

rest. 



MAY 149 

Coaxing and humoring made no alteration, 
Scolding and whipping effected no change 

In her, but to strengthen a determination 
Sooner or later to have her revenge. 

She built her a lodge in a tree up the mountain. 
Far up 'mid the boughs twenty-five feet or 
more, 

With a curious rope-ladder to go up and down on, 
A rope she had stolen from a neighboring store. 

Often they told her in hopes to inspire her 
(Though good the intention, the outcome was 
wrong) 

If she would be good in all her behavior 
All that they had to her should belong. 

She told the old lady, ''You 're not my mother; 

The children at school they told it to me. 
In my sleep I can hear the voice of another 

Calling, and calling way over the sea. 

*'Can I be your daughter, when you have no 
color 
Any more than the snow that on the ground 
lies? 
Not the least little bit do I look like you either 
With your thin yellow hair and faded blue 
eyes. 



150 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

''As for old dad he treats nie quite human, 
Yet talks lots of stuff I can't understand, 

He'd have me a-working like an old washer- 
woman 
When I'd be a princess in some other land. 

"He says, if I'm good some day I'll have a 
suitor 
And then will get married and have all his 
land. 
I'd lose all my freedom, for nothing is surer, 
The tarnal old fool, I don't want any man. 

' ' To talk about marriage, it 's all a great folly 
When such troubles exist 'twixt husbands and 
wives, 
I think it's best motto to have who you want to 
And quit when you'r mind to and let that 
suffice. ' ' 

Then said the mother, ''Without legal direction 
Misery and vice would reign in the land. 

Without lawful fathers for the children's pro- 
tection — ' ' 
She quickly responded, "Children be d — d." 

In the barn was a plank, on the high beams sus- 
pended, 
Which led from the scaffold across to the bay, 



MAY 151 

To be used as a foot-bridge was the purpose in- 
tended 
Where the farmer walked over to pitch down 
his hay. 

Concerning the plank, there was nothing un- 
common ; 
A thousand farm barns are constructed the 
same, 
But people and places have become marks of in- 
terest 
Brought about by conditions that afterwards 
came. 

Often at times, after being admonished, 

She would hie to the mountain and there she 
would stay, 

For no one knew of her den in the forest 
Till several weeks after she'd gone away. 

But, now where is the barefooted youngster 
Who gathered the cows for a penny a time? 

Sixteen years has developed a fine looking fellow. 
Or a better young man one hardly could find. 

Up from the depth of a low situation 

Where indolence rested and poverty reigned; 

Each day saw him striving without hesitation 
For something to save, or some knowledge be 
gained. 



152 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

First in his lessons, and stood in high favor 
Though self educated as a general rule, 

With no vicious habits, correct in behavior; 
At eighteen was teaching in his own district 
school. 

The red schoolhouse where John the old farmer 
And his wife, sent down their wild little May, 

Who not a good lesson did she have in all sum- 
mer. 
But stole all the pencils and then ran away. 

Though prudent and saving he always responded 
With both heart and hand in every good cause. 

So clear were his views where skill was demanded 
To the state house was sent to help fashion 
their laws. 

There are none so low but there 's chance for up- 
rising. 
There are none so high, but perchance meet 
a fall. 
With evil allurements continually striving 
But, the love between sexes is surest of all. 

One day this young ' Solon ' was returning from 

duty. 

He chanced to meet May at the foot of the 

lane, 

He was instantly struck by her wonderful beauty 

And for a short chat a few moments remained. 



MAY 153 

He spake of the weather, and such things in 

common, 

Since she was a babe how fast the time flies. 

And he who had never gave thought to a woman 

Then and there lost his heart by the glint of 

her eyes. 

In a straight, manly way he declared his devo- 
tion, 
She stood like a statue without pleasure or 
pain, 
And made him no answer in word, look or motion, 
But, in a few days she managed to meet him 
again. 

And time after time she met there the teacher. 

No one knew for certain, but a rumor run rife 
That when he returned from the state legislature 

Young Donald intended to make her his wife. 

His friends then besought him to think of his 
honor, 
That such a proceeding would check his ad- 
vance. 
"While the answer he made them, he meant to re- 
form her, 
''That as for poor May, she had not had a 
chance. ' ' 

How futile the task to be a reformer ! 

As shown in results upon thousands of men, 



154 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

For a time they refrain till they get their fair 
charmer, 
Then slowly creep back to their habits again. 

About this time there came a young fellow, 

A stranger, ostensibly looking for work, 
With eyes black as midnight, a skin brownish 
yellow, 
And hair coarse as bristles, and looked like a 
Turk. 

He went to ' ' friend John ' ' to see if he 'd hire him 
And offered to work for very small pay, 

But the sagacious old farmer did not admire him, 
So preemptorily dismissed him and sent him 
away. 

In the course of the week he got in with a farmer 
Who paid him for time which he frittered 
away. 
But the thing that produced the greatest of 
wonder 
Was how in the time he got acquainted with 
May. 

For often at times they met with each other 
In the dusk of the evening, in some lonely spot. 

And there in low tones would be talking together 
On some secret subject, nobody knew what. 



MAY 155 

One night after supper, this honest old couple 
Sat down by their fireside to speak of their 
plight, 

They saw by the shadows the coming of trouble, 
For May had begun to stay out late at night. 

He filled up his pipe ; for a time he sat smoking ; 

His wife sat near by with her knitting in hand, 
An industrious old lady and always a working, 

She was knitting a mitten for the winter's de- 
mand. 

The light from the grate lent its aid to the 
candle, 
The last swirl of smoke disappeared o'er his 
head, 
He rapped out the ashes, put his pipe on the 
mantle. 
Spat in the ash-box, and this is what he said. 

*' Mother," said he, ''I've been thinking it over 

And reached the conclusion; we've made a 

mistake. 

You remember the story in the old-fashion reader 

About the old farmer who brought in the 

snake, 

"Chilled and benumbed by the cold wintry 
weather, 
The sweet Golden Rule he meant to advance, 



156 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

But when the old serpent began to recover 
He'd bitten the whole family if he'd got a 
chance. 

''We've spent our best efforts in raising this 
young one, 
Lions coming from rat holes was never yet 
known, 
This 'enviroment theory' is surely a wrong one, 
You can't beat from the flesh what is bred in 
the bone. 

*'It surely don't lay within parent, or tutor. 
Whatever to the contrary people may claim, 

You may polish with silver a cup made of 
pewter, 
Of pewter it was and will pewter remain." 

''Father, you must not be too hard on our May. 

Lions from rat holes is literally true. 
But take, for instance, the case of young Donald, 

From the lowest of homes, it's admitted by 
you. 

' ' And now though away to where he 's elected 
He 's in love with our May, we all understand. 

And when he returns it is generally expected 
That he is to ask for our daughter's hand. 

"To such an arrangement I see no objection. 
He'd make a good son, it certainly appears; 



MAY 157 

He would have a good home and we'd have pro- 
tection 
And comfort and care through our few fail- 
ing years.'' 

"Bosh on such nonsense, as her hand being re- 
quested. 
Or his thinking of marrying such a wildcat 
as she; 
'Twere better a millstone about his neck were 
adjusted 
And that he was drowned in the depth of the 
sea. 

''About lions and rat holes and young Donald's 
condition, 
His grandsire was a reputable man, bear in 
mind, 
So he had a right by the law of transmission 
To inherit blood of a far better kind. 

''Although she's done things that's not to our 
liking 
Perhaps there are others, maybe she's done 
worse ; 
Night after night she 's been out a sky-larking. 
And maybe to-night with that 'yeller-faced 



Yes, pa, I admit that May's been mischievous, 
But now at an age when girls meet a reform, 



158 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

And then only think of pleasure she's given ns 
Almost since the time when she was first born." 



* ' Now, mother, 1 11 tell you I have a great notion 
In some institution to have her confined 

Where she will be kept from causing commotion, 
And kept out of mischief, and be made to 
mind. 

''Strange it may seem, but I have a presenti- 
ment ; 

A sort of impression I can't understand. 
That sooner or later when the time is convenient 

That you, and I both, shall die by her hand. ' ' 

' ' Pa, aren 't you too old to be afraid of our baby ? 
And I can't see the justice which your words 
imply, 
I know May is fractious, for dispute always 
ready, 
But really at heart she would not hurt a fly. 

''And don't you remember the care that we gave 
her 
When she was so sick and we thought she 
would die, 
How sincerely we prayed to Heaven to save her, 
With hearts fraught with grief, and eyes 
never dry? 



MAY 159 

* ' Now to think of our May away among strangers 

Crying herself to sleep for motherly care. 
Of your apprehension I'm sure there's no dan- 
ger, 
Don't send her away, John, for my sake for- 
bear." 

*'Well, just as you say, ma, we'll try it a spell 
longer, 
I'll give her a talking, and see what that will 
do; 
I 've exhausted my soft words, will try something 
stronger, 
If that proves a failure why then I am 
through. ' ' 

Then said the doctor, ' ' How came this to happen ? 

And how did you get such a terrible fall? 
It appears that your spine has received a bad 
fracture 
And you have no use of your lower limbs at 
all." 

''Across the high beam, — from the bay to the 
scaffold — 
— that pain, it hurts me to talk, — 
A plank was extended securely was fastened, 
Where for — twenty-one years — I have used as 
a walk. 



160 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

' ' The nails were pulled out, — and the plank was 
adjusted. — 
0, just a moment, doctor — till this pain is 
'er ; — 
As soon as my weight on -^he plank — fairly- 
rested, — 
The whole thing — gave way, and we fell to 
the floor. 

' ' I know my life work — on earth is nearly ended, 
I would not be unjust — yet, I would be frank, 

I know the vile spirit — of some one intended — 
To endanger my life — by disturbing the plank. 

" ! Merciful God, — that pain is returning, — 
Oh! how it strikes from my back to my 
breast, — 
I can't tell you more, — when you come in the 
morning — 
If I am able — I '11 tell you the rest. ' ' 

His mission completed, the doctor departed. 

The sorrowing wife followed him to the door, 
Saying, ''Is there one ray of hope that I can 
take heart in?" 
''While there's life, there is hope, I can say 
nothing more. 

' ' Where is your girl ? Thought you had a daugh- 
ter — 
She ought to be here to assist you in work. ' ' 



MAT 161 

''No, she's gone away, I don't know what's the 
matter, 
She has not been at home since her father was 
hurt." 

But, when the doctor returned the next morning. 
On entering the room and approaching the 
bed, 
The faithful old wife was her silent watch keep- 
ing 
With his hand clasped in hers, but, the old 
farmer was dead. 

All things were made ready, the funeral ap- 
pointed, 
And friends came by hundreds from both far 
and near. 
When they lowered the coffin the poor widow 
fainted. 
But never as yet did the daughter appear. 

They carried her home, and a lady stayed with 
her — 
A cousin who came from a neighboring town, 
For they could not depend upon May to assist 
her. 
That is, providing the girl could be found. 

A neighbor then offered to take charge of the 
labor 
Till legal arrangements were made to go by, 
II 



162 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

And May stayed away till hunger betrayed her, 
And she came to the house her wants to 
supply. 

Now this cousin, at home she was needed 

After a week or ten days there she had stayed, 

And May volunteered, and quickly acceded 
To fill both positions of nurse-girl and maid. 

Scarcely three days had elapsed since she left 
there, 
When there came a letter from a neighbor 
near by, 
Asking her to return as soon as she could get 
there. 
For her cousin was worse, and they thought 
she would die. 

She quickly returned with solemn misgivings. 
Everything was as still as a mystery dread. 

No sound, no stir as of anything living. 

May was not there, and the woman was dead. 

The genial old neighbor who had charge of the 

matter 

Returned to the house when he saw she had 

come. 

Then told her the cause of his sending the letter, 

And subsequent acts since she had been gone. 



MAY 163 

He said Mrs. B. began fast to falter 

And took to her bed the very next day, 

His wife had come up on occasions to help her, 
For very small help they could get out of May. 

"This forenoon I came up for the chores, 
I was up at the barn taking care of the team. 

May had been gone an hour or more 

When there came to my ears a most pitiful 
scream. 

''I rushed to the house, nor rapped at the door 
And entered the room without license of law. 

There lay poor Mrs. B. stretched out on the floor 
In the greatest distress that I ever saw. 

"I got her to bed and made some inquiry. 
But not one word could she speak in reply, 

But between gasps and groans looked out on the 
pantry 
And pointing her finger, pointed up high. 

* ' I asked her if there 's something she wished me 
to bring her. 
So after a struggle, she then shook her head. 
Her convulsions came quicker, her breathing 
grew shorter, 
I sat by her side till the woman was dead." 

Now after the burial, it devolved on this cousin 
To have the charge of a general clean-up; 



164 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

She found in the pantry out of reach of one 
standing, 
On the uppermost shelf, a spoon and a cup. 

In the bottom of the cup was a little white 
powder. 
To tell what it was their knowledge came short. 
Without further delay it was shown to the doc- 
tor. 
Who said it was poison of the very worst sort. 

The authorities then disinterred the body, 

And had the contents of her stomach showed 
up. 

And there was found the same sort of powder 
That was discovered in the base of the cup. 

A warrant was sworn out, and May was ar- 
rested, 
The charge of the crime not admitting of bail, 
She seemed at the court not the least interested 
Nor whimpered a word when committed to 
jail. 

For a couple of days she was talking and singing, 
Which caused some to think they had caught 
the wrong bird, 
But the third morning they changed their opin- 
ion, 
For never thereafter was her voice ever heard. 



MAY 165 

For when the keeper made Ms rounds in the 
morning 
He found her cell locked as he 'd left it before ; 
But, judge his surprise, for without word or 
warning 
His prisoner was gone, and was never seen 
more. 

Each bolt was in place and properly adjusted. 
Each door-way and gate which she had to pass 
through. 

But that she was gone was a fact uncontested, 
But how she escaped no one ever knew. 

I suppose you would hear a word from young 
Donald, 

His ill advised love seemed to seal a sad fate. 
He never thereafter paid court to a woman 

And never amounted to anything great 

Honest and kind without foolish habits, 
To all worthy objects was ready to give. 

Shunning society he lived like a hermit. 

But cared for his parents as long as they lived. 

In about ten years a band of those gypsies 
Were passing through town, and stopped on 
the way 
At the foot of the hill where once lived the old 
farmer, 
If through calculation none were able to say. 



166 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Among the gang was a young gypsy woman 
With a large bunch of children and one on 
her arm; 
She was seen by some callers, as she stood like a 
statue 
With tears in her eyes looking up at the farm. 

Some said it was May, but there was no means 
of showing; 
If hailed into court and witnesses sworn, 
Each gypsy on oath would have said he was 
knowing 
That she had been in the ''band" ever since 
she was born. 

Now, if it was May, and you take the position 
That the whisperings of conscience effected 
her still. 
They were not tears of regret for deeds she'd 
committted, 
But for loss of her "bower" way up in the 
hill. 

Now as for the facts deduced from this story. 

Nor to decry environment's skill, 
Precept, and training merit a full share of glory 
But, Heredities Laws are predominant still. 

LuMAN A. Ballou. 
Cleveland Heights, Ohio, 
March 15, 1915. 



INTERMEDIATE C. E. SOCIETY 167 
TO THE INTERMEDIATE C. E. SOCIETY. 

This little poem was written and sent to the Christian 
Endeavor Society in acknowledgment of a beautiful bou- 
quet of flowers sent to the author at the time when he 
was recovering from a severe spell of sickness. 

MANY thanks, my dear young friends, 
For that beautiful bunch of flowers. 
A source of pleasure has it been 
In my convalescing hours. 

And I hope, should you fall ill, 

As all are like to do, 
May some kind heart with free good will 

A like favor show to you. 

Please accept my thanks, 

And best wishes for you, 
This from your friend, 

L. A. Ballon. 



THE TALE OF A MOUSE. 

OF all the things the Lord has made 
That walk the earth, do creep or crawl 
Of which a woman can be afraid, 
The little mouse surpasses all. 
And she can't be blamed, to say the least 
For feeling fear of the little beast. 
A fatal mark from a fearful fright 
As stated by the best experts. 



168 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

That Mother Eve on her wedding night 

Had a wicked mouse run up her skirts, 
And Adam tore off half her train 
In getting the rascal down again. 

If that be so, and I think it's true, 
Evidence in past has been sustained 

By the records made the authors knew 
That Mother Eve would be much blamed. 

That she'd done enough, if nothing more 

In giving Adam her apple core. 

Now let me tell of a certain case 
Which came before my observation; 

I was at home about my place. 
Engaged in my usual occupation, 

When a lady came about that time 

With terror marked in every line. 

My sympathy at once arose 

On seeing her in such a plight, 
And quickly asked her to disclose 

What the cause might be of her dreadful 
fright ; 
She said a terrible vicious mouse 
Had got possession of her house. 

She said her husband had left the place. 
But a little time he had been gone, 



THE TALE OP A MOUSE 169 

When a savage mouse stole in some way, 

While she and her maid were there alone ; 
That they beat a retreat, both she and the maid, 
And left him ''Monarch of all he surveyed." 

She said, "If I would be so kind 

In ousting him, to lend my aid, 
If thanks would do, a thousand times 

By them I should be amply paid. 
Beside the thanks to be my meed. 
The honor of doing a daring deed." 

Now I've been a veteran of the war, 

And perhaps have killed a thousand men, 

But never did I feel the fear, 

I must confess, possessed me then. 

Yet striving hard to show no white feather 

My quaking knees would knock together. 

When I reached the place, with fear, and doubt. 
Where the terrible combat was to begin, 

The maid was keeping guard without. 

And the mouse was keeping house within. 

For a pile of sticks I selected one, 

Preferring that to a mop or broom. 

The little maid undid the door. 

And I was shown to a middle room. 

And there his lordship stood before 
Where he or I must meet our doom: 



170 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

I closed my eyes, and breathed a prayer, 
For one of us must perish there. 

And as I thought the missile threw; 

Kind fortune favoring its course, instead; 
When I again took in the view 

That wretched little mouse lay dead. 
The fight was o'er, the victory won; 
Now *'see the conquoring hero come." 

Caesar, from hard earned victory 

While marching through the streets of Eome 
Never felt half the ecstasy 

As I, when bearing my trophy home. 
In a noble act no one should quail ; 
That ended the mouse, here ends the tale. 

ENCOMIUM OF THE WANDERER'S 
BRIDE. 

The story of THE WANDEEER'S BEIDE was printed 
in my first book, published in the year 1911, under the 
name of WAYSIDE MUSINGS. 

WHAT can we say of the wanderer's 
bride? 
Was it a life of consistency? 
Was it a course in which beside 

Most any woman would be? 
Tempted long by influence strong. 
Yet never wavering, never wrong. 
Toil, disappointment, and poverty 
Faithful and true was she. 



TO COUSIN RILLA 171 

Wedded to a man of her girlhood's choice, 

No doubt or dissension disturbed her mind, 
Charmed by his figure, his face and voice, 

Never dreamed he'd be unkind. 
But one day he wandered away. 
Went and left her ever to stay. 

Long, long she waited with a heart so sore, 

But he never came back more. 

Was ever love more surely shown 

That could withstand such a heartfelt strife. 
Deserted, disheartened and left alone, 

Yet maintained a blameless life. 
What other dame would have single remained. 
But have been courted, and married again? 

No other choice did she have beside 

To live and die the Wanderer's Bride. 

TO COUSIN RILLA. 

I THINK, dear cousin, I did agree 
That morning when I came away, 
That I would write a poem for thee. 
And send to you some future day. 
So here it is, a verse or two. 
Which I hardly think worthy of you. 
Still 'tis the best that I can do; 

For I really don't know what to say. 

You said you'd like to hear from me, 
And that is what you're going to do; 



172 ECHOES OP MEMORY 

If you really liked my company 
I'm sure I felt the same for you. 

Not that I wish a heart to win 

That's a "milestone" passed by elderly men 

But still you seemed more of kin, 
So innocent, and true. 

Tho' the tide of fate has fixed my lot 

By which I surely must abide, 
Beside there are some other knots 

That can not be untied. 
Still, it is not wrong to love the flowers 
Altho' they grow in others' bowers, 
"We must not wish to call them ours, 

By a moral right denied. 

Still of all the lasses I have seen 

The while I have been gone; 
No one like you attracted me, 

No charm that lasts so long. 
Those soulful eyes, so true and clear. 
And voice melodious to the ear 
Such as in youth I loved to hear. 

Held me in thraldom strong. 

Now, please don't think that I am daffy. 

Or gushing as a general rule; 
For I admire a genial air. 

But despise the stiff and cool. 
It is a natural consequence 
A man possessed of common sense 



TO COUSIN RILLA 173 

Can be gallant without the least offence, 
But will not play the fool. 

One gentle hint, for well I know 

One sin besets us all; 
Mind well your steps, as on you go, 

It's an easy thing to fall. 
On leaving once the proper track 
It's a hard matter to get back, 
Years of tears may fall in fact 

For things we can't recall. 

The little flower you gave to me 

Long, long I wore it near my heart. 

Till withered, wilted it came to be, 
Each crimson petal began to start; 

Then it was I laid it by 

But not without a heartfelt sigh. 

To think that all that's dear must die, 
And fondest friends must part. 

Think not for a moment, dear little niece, 

That your flower has met decay. 
But carefully kept, to say the least; 

Like a treasured token it will stay, 
"While very dear it will surely be 
Like the memory of her who gave it me, 
Tho' thy dear face I may nevermore see 

While I walk life's weary way. 



174 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

No friendship here, but here must end, 
If we meet again, no one can tell, 

But thoughts of you, dear little friend, 
Like a pleasant dream will ever dwell. 

But should my lamp hold out to burn, 

Sometime perhaps, I may return 

Still, death may end the whole concern, 
If so forever, ''Fare thee well." 

ARBOR DAY. 

The incident which this poem was made from is a fact, 
and happened in the town where the author was then 
living. 

Moral : ' ' Those living in glass houses should never 
throw stones." 

WE thank our Heavenly Father 
Who gave us lovely May, 
We thank our honored governor 
For appointing Arbor Day, 
And grateful to our neighbors 

To meet on May-day morn. 
The lane, the road, and the dead's abode 
With shade trees to adorn. 

Like "bread upon the waters," 

After "the flood of years," 
When we from earth and earthly scenes 

Have passed to other spheres. 
When the stranger, and wayfaring man 

Beneath those branches rest. 



ARBOR DAY 175 

Who shall say, but in that day 
*' Shall rise up and call us blest." 

On the sunny side of the beautiful Glebe 

Two quiet villages stand. 
Like the one spoken of by Goldsmith 

With now and then a man. 
And each a place of worship have 

For preaching, praise and prayer, 
Showing to the eye of the passer-by 

God has a people there. 

'Tis Arbor Day at the upper ville. 

They come from far and near 
With willing hearts to act their part, 

Their pastor's words to hear. 
With spade and hoe to the woods they go 

In spite of cold or wet. 
And long e'er night, a number quite 

Of goodly trees were set. 

Far different the other place. 

No pastor now have they. 
But a self -installed Demosthenes 

Officiates that day. 
Although the ville is but three miles off, 

Because of cold and rain, 
There is nothing brought but ''gems of thought" 

From that orator's fertile brain. 



176 ECHOES OP MEMORY 

There before that vast assembly, 

Some twenty-five in all, 
The speaker poured forth his eloquence 

Till perspiring drops did fall, 
There from his twenty-one pages 

Expressly for that day; 
Not as yet has a tree been set, 

But, he read his ''Grand Essay/' 

ON THE DEATH OF A HEN. 

I "WAS living alone, my folks being gone, 
And of course had my own house work 
to do. 
I had plenty to eat of potato and meat, 

But still kept thinking of a nice chicken stew. 

I then did inquire who'd a chicken to spare. 
But found that they came exceedingly high. 

It seemed that the prices at the present crisis 
Precluded a purchase by such men as I. 

As I was returning from a short tour of jour- 
neying, 

I saw ahead like feathers it showed; 
But a rod or two farther what should I discover 

But a big nice pullet lay dead in the road. 

I then stopped my horse, to inspect it of course ; 

Those big lusty legs were warm I could feel, 
Altho' she was dead, she had profusely bled. 

Just having been killed by an automobile. 



ON THE DEATH OF A HEN 177 

I could not but laugh, for in my behalf 

I could see interposed a power from on high 

Tho' money was scarce, and credit was worse; 
I could now have a chicken and not have to 
buy. 

I looked it well over, wishing none to discover, 
When some of its blood on my fingers was 
shown. 

And then came the thought, is it proper or not 
To carry off this which was never my own? 

We now understand that blood on the hand 
Is usually held as a proof of foul play. 

Yet I was not one who this play begun 
To play with this fowl in such a foul way. 

It's my firm belief that partaker and thief 
Are equally guilty in things they have done 

Tho' I'm not the guy that caused her to die, 
I would be a partaker in taking her home. 

This poor little hen like hundreds of men 
Was out in pursuit of a mouthful or two. 

And by this inquest it fully expressed 
What man unto others is likely to do. 

Whatever their choice is, a bug, or an office, 
If they get in the way, somebody may feel; 

They have no mercy then for a statesman, or hen, 
But are shot down or crushed 'neath their 
chariot wheel. 

12 



178 ECHOES OP MEMORY 

In this wise, poor hen, you differ from men ; 
To the base crime of murder you never would 
stoop, 
Your worst act however was to pull a few 
feathers 
From your sister pullets pent up in a coop. 

You scratched for your food as every one should, 
Yet in some other matters you differ from us ; 

You always were picking since you was a chicken 
But never picked pockets or picked any fuss. 

Or, when your husband, an inveterate old Mor- 
mon, 

Bestowed his affection on some other hen. 
You never took poison or jumped in the river, 

Or gave your affection to some other man. 

With this thought in view I straightway with- 
drew. 

Having laid the poor biddy back on the ground. 
Wherever I be let never in me 

Such a feeling of avarice ever be found. 

Let foxes and crows and creatures like those 
Feast on dead bodies without scruple or shame. 

But never a bard tho' times may be hard. 
Dishonor himself by doing the same. 

It shall never be said when after I'm dead 
And the cold, clammy earth shall be my abode 



UNHAPPY CANDACE 179 

That I was the man who picked up a hen 

And cooked it and ate it, found dead in the 
road. 



UNHAPPY CANDACE. 

OU say a very happy woman I ought to be 

In a place to which one might aspire 
A home, a husband, and my children three 
And everything that human hearts desire. 



Y 



You are not aware of what you speak, 
Every heart knows its own sorrow best. 

The cup outside may look all clean and sweet 
While gall and wormwood fills it to its crest. 

There's enough for all our temporal needs 
Of everything that money itself will buy; 

But small the comfort while the mouth it feeds 
And the hungry soul is left to starve and die. 

Things are not always what they seem to be, 
In company a more pleasant man is never 
known 

With all attention both to them and me, 
But cold and distant when we're left alone. 

Oh; those years of sighing misery-, 

But little in future but the silent grave, 

No love, no word of endearment ever comes to me 
For which my longing soul doth so much crave. 



180 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

I would not have thought that one so kind as he 
When I was sought and won at his request 

Could ever have changed to such a vast degree 
To care no more for me than all the rest. 

I hear it said, and I think it true of them 

That most of men throughout their married 
lives 
Take much more pains to please wives of other 
men 
Than what they will for the sake of their own 
wives. 

Do I wish him dead? No, not for an empress' 
seat ; 
A heart that truly loves no power on earth can 
kill; 
Tho' bruised, crushed and bleeding at his feet 
That woman's heart lives on and loves him 
still. 

Yet I suppose my case is only one 

Of the countless thousands scattered every- 
where ; 
Nor is grief confined to the female sex alone, 
'Tis said that many men have burdens hard to 
bear. 

Patiently abiding what we must pass through. 
And where duty calls try to do our best. 



MORTALITY 181 

Doing unto others as we would like to have them 
do, 
Then leave it to that power that cares for all 
the rest. 

But human life is so short at best, 

A sad, sad plight attends the situation 

Of those whose lives are full of wretchedness 
Where peace and joy should meet their expec- 
tation. 

. MORTALITY. 

THE beautiful Sun with golden ray 
Sheds light and warmth o'er vale and 
hill, 
Earth's boon companion all the day, 
The Maker's mandate to obey; 
Then sinks from view in tears of dew 
As going hence against it's will. 

And so it is with mortal man 
Left lingering on this earthly shore, 

Whose ''dial" marks three score and ten 

And their 's a Christian life has been. 

Tho ' rest awaits just beyond the gate 

They fain would crave a few days more. 

Here life leads but to death, at best. 

E'en our first breath is drawn in pain, 
Why loath to leave a world's distress, 



182 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

A vast Vesuvius in the breast? 
If earth is woe, and Heaven is rest, 
To live is naught, to die is gain. 

If there is rest, no one would think 

A trusting soul could ever doubt it, 
But when they reach that river's brink 
And know that beneath that wave they sink, 
The strongest faith inclines to shrink. 
So little they know about it. 

THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. 

Written by request that I write a soldier poem. 

L. A. Ballou. 

THE last harsh note of war was stilled, 
The cannon's roar had ceased; 
The last guard duty had been fulfilled. 
Each soldier was released. 
Each turned his steps tow^ard his native soil 

On feet not loath, nor slow. 
To take up the broken threads of toil 
That were left so long ago. 

Among the crowd was as brave a lad 

As ever the beat of sentry trod; 
True was he to his betrothed. 

His country, and his God. 
He never shrank in the foremost rank, 

And carried many a battle scar; 



THE SOLDIER'S RETURN 183 

But as it proved the wounds of love 
Were deadlier far than those of war. 

When he reached a gate in his native state 

Where oft a welcome guest he'd been, 
And lingering there for memory's sake 

Thinking of one so dear to him, 
He saw her coming a-down the lane 

To the place where oft they'd met before, 
Where he her promise had obtained 

The night before he left for war. 

He advanced to meet her as she drew near 

With a joyous smile and outstretched arms. 
She shrank from him like a frightened deer 

Or one who is expecting harm, 
Saying, "Young man, I pray, be gone. 

Don't come to trouble me; 
I am a married woman now ; 

Go, and be happy, free." 

In a manly way he did demand 

Why she had been to him untrue; 
Who no answer made, but in the sand 

Marked with the toe of her tiny shoe, 
And seeing thus that all was lost. 

Proposed they take a walk 
Down by the kitty- willow bank 

For at least a farewell talk. 



184 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

His eyes assumed a curious light 

That evening as they reached the place, 
As though a demon held him tight, 

As shown in his eyes and bloodless face. 
Two shots rang out on the evening air, 

And then a stifled cry. 
No mortal marked their death pangs there 

But the stars who saw them die. 

The morning sun shone bright and clear 

Upon each death-calmed face, 
When her husband in despair 

Came wandering to the place, 
And there espied upon the ground 

Two corpses side by side, 
One a friend of his boyhood days. 

And the other his new-made bride. 

Then each was borne to the last long home 

And hid from earthly view. 
She was arrayed in her bridal robe, 

And he, in his soldier blue. 
The husband lived but as in a dream 

But a very brief space of life 
In four short months, they laid him to rest 

By the side of his erring wife. 

Best of intentions will often fail 

Unless guarded by love and a will that 's strong. 
Disastrous results are apt to prevail 

To promised lovers who are parted long. 



THE HOLSTEIN COW 185 

The sad and tragic destiny 

"Which met the soldier at discharge 

Is but an instance of the many 

That happen through the world at large. 

THE HOLSTEIN COW. 

This little poem was composed for a granger, and was 
read at a grange meeting in Chester, Vt., 1912. 

TRUTH is one while opinions vary, 
Many men of many minds, 
Were there as many breeds as farmers 
They would mostly choose the different kinds. 

Men have little choice in common, 
And their views may differ, quite, 

'Tis said they all would want the same woman 
If they all thought just alike. 

And thus it is with breeds of cattle, 
Each one choosing what they will; 

Some for Devons, some for Durhams, 
Some think Jerseys fill the bill. 

But, the best for beef or butter 

To whom all other breeds must bow. 

Few can equal, none can beat her, 
That's the handsome Holstein Cow. 



186 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

TRUE DIPLOMACY. 

I CALLED one day at a beautiful place 
Where often I had called before; 
On leaving there, their daughter fair 
Accompanied me to the door. 
Said I, "Little maid, would you be afraid 

When I come to say good-by 
Or think it a-miss to give a kiss 
To such a man as I ? ' ^ 

And there she stood and looked so good 

With a twinkle in her eye, 
And bowing her head she softly said, 

''Well, sir, you can try." 
With that in view, what could I do? 

But summoning up my grit 
There was number 1, and number 2, 

And several before I quit. 

You understand, tho' a married man, 

I could not see the harm 
To express my praise in such a case 

For lips so sweet and warm. 
Her slender waist my arms embraced 

All ecstasy to share. 
When there came a noise and her mother 's voice 

Cried, "What are you doing there?" 

If you never saw a cable break 
Or the vivid lightning dart, 



TRUE DIPLOMACY 187 

You have little idea of the velocity 

With which we fell apart. 
Now to be exact, a kiss in fact 

Is of little consequence, 
But the time and place alters the case, 

I felt like thirty cents. 

I thought at once all confidence 

In me was forever o'er; 
If there 'd been a spot that had lost a knot 

I could have gone down through the floor. 
It seemed to me diplomacy 

Was the best thing to be found, 
So I turned my head and smiling said, 

''I've enough to go around." 

Great Scott! and Holy Moses! 

I had hit the ' ' bull 's eye ' ' square ; 
She did not wait to expostulate. 

But came to get her share. 
Well, yes; no use in talking. 

It's the most natural thing in the world. 
I then found out beyond a doubt 

She was just as sweet as the girl. 

A moral here, would now appear; 

I would say to all you men, 
Do not insist a girl to kiss 

'Less you "rope" the old lady in. 
I have a mind that most mankind 

On mountain, hill or hollow. 



188 ECHOES OP MEMOEY 

Regard it nice to give advice, 
But not as good to follow. 

A MILD EULOGY. 

Dedicated to the "Middleton Sisters." 

I UNDERSTAND you are two sisters. 
(How sweet the tie that so unites) 
Maybe by now there are two Misters 
Waiting patiently for their answers, 
To complete their joy along life's pike. 

Happy souls with such to mingle, 

If sincere they prove to be, 
Though my hair is gray, and my face is wrinkled. 
Were I again but young and single. 

Either were good enough for me. 

But, as for age, no use repining. 

No one gets too old to laugh, 
Altho' life's days may be declining, 
A few more Suns may yet be shining 

To cheer a weary poet's path. 

''Rejoice, 0, young man, in the days of thy 
youth, 

And let thy heart cheer thee, ' ' then. 
A Scripture precept so full of truth 
Which will apply alike to both, 

The fairer sex as well as men. 



AH, TO LIE ALONE 189 

Love and sin are sisters two. 

For each a common parent hath; 
Love often brings a life of woe, 
As many a fond heart now must know, 

While the wages of sin is death. 

Now, to conclude, whatever the case is, 

As down life's pike your ways you wend. 
May your steps e'er tend to pleasant places 
'Mid fields of flowers, fair as your faces. 
Is the sincere wish of your ' ' rhyming friend. ' ' 

AH, TO LIE ALONE, 

OR, 

THE BACHELOR'S SOLILOQUY. 

AH, to lie alone, to lie alone; 
To enjoy the whole of the bed so wide, 
"With no arms or limbs across you thrown ; 
No knees or elbows in back or side, 
No snoring sound to break repose, 
Or being robbed of all the clothes. 

Ah, to lie alone, to lie alone; 

How many a heart have pined and sighed 
For expected joys, that are never known 

To those on a double couch supplied, 
As though that rest could be more dear 
With someone blowing in your ear. 



190 ECHOES OP MEMORY 

Ah, to lie alone, to lie alone; 

If every one were satisfied. 
How little cause to grieve and moan; 

How little cause for suicide, 
Ah, many a one this world hath known 
Have come to grief by not lying alone. 

A fair example, is this, no doubt 
Of those who wed into married life, 

Where a man is old, and most fagged out, 
Joined to a young and beautiful wife, 

To love him much, she may appear, 

Yet some other man she holds more dear. 

Ah, to lie alone, to lie alone; 

A curious remedy once was tried 
On a sick old king in ages flown 

By laying a damsel by his side; 
Even now, history has testified. 
That the damsel lived, but the old king died. 

Old Solomon said, and he should have known. 
For about such things he could not be beat, 

''Where two together in bed are thrown. 
That by such means both obtain heat." 

But heat like this, sometimes we fear. 

Comes higher than coal, when coal is dear. 

The Apostle Paul, he lay alone, 
Nor ever married, we understand, 



THE BALL 191 

Who never saw a lady home 

Or even squeezed a woman's hand, 
And yet he said he wished all men 
In that respect were just like him. 

Still, there was Job, good, patient man. 
From grievous boils he much endured, 

Ayer's Sarsaparilla was not known then, 
Or else he might have been quickly cured; 

But of all the troubles he possessed 

His wife was worse than all the rest. 

Ah, to lie alone, to lie alone; 

I ask no more, whate'er betide, 
I wish no one to ask for room 

Or sourly saying ''Lay your own side;" 
Let others wed, it may be fine. 
But, as for me, I'll take none in mine. 

THE BALL. 

^ ^ 711^1^ y^^ come to the ball, 
V/V/ Where you'll find the best of com- 

^ ^ pany ; 

Where Lula plays the seraphine. 

And Ben. he jogs the bow; 
Where the young, one and all 

With the greatest of alacrity 
Do trip it to the music 

On fantastic toe. 
When with smiles and happy faces, 



192 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Fraught with cheer and winning graces 
We will watchful keep our places 

In the the classes, 0; 
Sweetly ring, silver string, 
Lightly spring, till we bring 
Crystal drops of perspiration 

On the lasses, 0. 

Come away, don't delay 

To hear the choicest orchestra 
That's found within this country 

For a hundred miles or so; 
If by chance, you don't dance, 

"Which appears a great calamity, 
You can watch the nimble dancers 

As they trip it to and fro. 
Let the lazy, lounging loafer 
In the smoky bar room hover 
As they often to each other 

Clink their glasses, 0; 
While they rail 'bout their ale, 
Strong or pale, we won't fail 
To bestow our best attention 

On their lasses, 0. 

Let us strive while we may 

With afforded opportunity 
To grasp the drops of pleasure 

Which may innocently fall; 
Yet there are some I must say 

That reside in each community 



THE KISS BETWEEN THE BRIDGES 193 

That had rather go to — Heaven 

Than be caught at a ball. 
"With a face so melancholy 
''Say that nought but sin and folly 
At a place where all's so jolly 

Ever passes," 0; 
If you please, the same disease 
Sometimes seize upon these 
Coming home from some prayer-meeting 

With their lasses, 0. 

THE KISS BETWEEN THE BRIDGES. 

I'VE traveled high, I've traveled low, 
I've tread the flowery heather; 
I've walked the isles where roses grow, 
Smelled their enchanting savor 
Where'er I tread 'mid flowery beds, 

Whate'er enchants, bewitches. 
No place I find that haunts my mind 
Like that between the bridges. 

Some prefer the concrete walk 

Along the city street, 
While others love to retain in thought 

Some shady, lone retreat. 
Of all the ways my thought surveys 

From pleasant plain to ridges. 
No place I see so dear to me 

As that between the bridges. 



13 



194 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Not that the grade was better made, 

Not that the path was even, 
Or that the trees gave better shade, 

Or to other beauties given. 
Yet the spot is dear to me 

Not for its guards or ditches. 
But for the bliss of that treasured kiss, 

That kiss between the bridges. 

Men will come and men will go. 

Year on year forever roll; 
Many the crumb of joy below 

We grasp to satisfy the soul. 
Whate'er my lot in any spot 

Until my life train switches, 
I will think of her my "charmer fair" 

And the kiss between the bridges. 

THE GREEN FIELDS OF AMERICA. 

WHAT can you say of the free land of 
America ? 
So thronged with population from 
circumference to the core, 
Where the anarchist and socialist, and every kind 
of deviltry 
Goes rolling on together like waves upon the 
shore. 
Where avarice and greed forms the base of op- 
eration, 
Nor whoaed up, or slowed up, by better inclina- 
tion, 



THE GREEN FIELDS OF AMERICA 195 

All they seem to need is the dross of every nation, 
In the green fields of America they're pro- 
tected evermore. 

What can you say of the religion of America? 
Which by enumeration several hundreds now 
afford. 
There are Israelites and Mormanites, and all the 
Catholic gentry 
To impress their blessed doctrine would be 
glad to draw the sword. 
Our soil congenial to all sorts of pious flocks, 
Shakers and Quakers, Spiritualist and Orthodox 
Who all swear they're right, and that every 
other is in the ''box," 
In the green fields of America they thrive like 
Jonah's gourd. 

What can you say of the morals of America? 
The peer of every nation in her self asserted 
grace, 
A few men are true men, the most are mighty 
rascally. 
Who never know their places unless slapped 
upon the face. 
All sorts of meanness they seem to delight in. 
Thieving, deceiving, getting drunk and fighting, 
And as soon kiss a lady that they haven't any 
right in. 
Ah! they'll never get to Heaven if there's 
any other place. 



196 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

THAT HORRID NIGHTMARE. 

The following poem came into existence by reason of a 
disagreeable neighbor, who, as the poem states, was ''In 
a row most every day, ' ' was a phosphate agent, was 
wealthy, but it was claimed he had not an honest earned 
dollar in his estate. 

SLOW fades the twilight in the west 
While twinkling stars their vigils keep, 
From daily toil and heat oppressed 
On my humble couch I sought for rest 
Found in refreshing sleep. 

At first my rest was mild and sweet, 

Calm as an infant's freed from care; 
No need of fear or cause to weep 
Until my dream it changed complete 
Into a horrid nightmare. 

I dreamed that 'neath a tree I paused, 

Deep rapt in thought, like Newton, mute, 
Watching the effect of nature's laws 
As from the leaves they unclinched their claws; 
Falling worms, instead of fruit. 

And as I watched them tumbling down, 

Not that I pitied, or even cared, 
I heard proceeding from the ground 
A dismal, doleful, dreadful sound. 

The most strange I ever heard. 



THAT HORRID NIGHTMARE 197 

And I was greatly terrified, 

Deep death-like chills came o'er me, 

In earth a rent went far and wide. 

In smoke and fire in all his pride 
Stood the prince of hell before me. 

His eyes were like big balls of fire, 

His hooked teeth were sharp and keen, 
Like huge drag-teeth fastened there, 
"While his forked tongue, such as serpents wear, 
Played in and out between. 

One foot was armed with tiger's nails. 

The other an ox's hoof adorns. 
While he lashed the ground with a ten-foot tail. 
And on his head covered with scales 

Grew a pair of Jersey horns. 

And as I gazed Old Satan spoke, 

With a frown and hideous grin. 
While from his mouth and nostrils broke 
A stream of sulphur fire and smoke 

As from a pit within. 

Said he, ''Old man, you just prepare 
The tide of the bottomless pit to stem, 

Unfit to live, or die you are ; 

And even saints would learn to swear 
Were you allowed to live with them. 



198 ECHOES OP MEMORY 

"I know my duties will be double, 
And gladly would I pass you o'er; 

For you are sure to make us trouble 

And even cause old hell to bubble 
As it never boiled before." 

Said I, ''Mr. Satan, there's something wrong, 

You sure have made some slight mistake; 
What have I done while passing along 
In intercourse with this earthly throng 
To merit such a fate?" 

''Well," said Old Nick, "I should think you'd 
say 

In such solemn tones, 'What have I done?' 
You are in a row most every day, 
And robbed little boys' pennies away 

To fire your old pop-gun. 

"And more than this you really know, 
You stingy, stinking, shameless brute; 

That many a one who deals with you 

Have often let their own rights go 
Rather than have dispute. 

"A widowed lady who lived near by 

With her little children not long ago. 
Got your displeasure, she knew not why, 
And you swore at her till you made her cry 
With your boisterous, bullying, big-mouth 
blow. 



THAT HORRID NIGHTMARE 199 



''And one of your latest pranks," said Nick, 
"That would bring a decent dog to shame, 

A mighty measly, dirty trick, 

You swore at a woman till you made her sick 
When she was not in the least to blame." 

"Good Mr. Satan, I am but human, 

But such things as that I've never done; 
I own I've loved the women some. 
But never plagued a widow woman 
Or fired a little pop-gun." 



And spitting fire he then drew near. 

But stopped, and sniffed to smell phosphate, 

Then said, "Great Scott! who have I here? 

Your mouth is straight, your eyes are clear; 
I fear I've made some great mistake." 

Then said Old Nick, "I must give o'er, 

'Tis extraordinary, very. 
Six thousand years I've jobbed, or more, 
And never made such a mistake before, 

I thought your name was Spherry. 

' ' Good-by, ' ' said Nick, while the earth did quake 

As he disappeared 'mid fire and smoke; 
And I an answ^er was trying to make 
"When my wife gave me an awful shake, 
And straightway I awoke. 



200 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

THE NORTHFIELD SCHOOL. 

This simple little song was made and given to a young 
lady who was attending the Ladies' Seminary at North- 
field, Mass., as a pleasant '* banter. " As there was a 
certain young man in the case with more audacity than 
good sense, and furthermore, the rules were very strict 
about the members of the Mount Hermon School (which 
was for young men) and the Northfield girls associating 
together. 

WHO has not ambition 
Or would fail to get an education 
When a grand position 
Is just as easy as the Golden Rule? 
When introduced by letter 
If there's no way to do it any better, 
Then within a year or later 
We take our place at the Northfield School. 

Refrain. 

Away, away, our lessons learning, 

Hearts and minds for a better knowledge 

yearning. 
While our heads from Hermon turning. 
Hurrah, hurrah, for the Northfield School. 

Who would be a booby 

At an institution built by Mr. Moody, 

Or conduct quite rudely. 

Or treat their teachers with attention cool? 
Cupid's court is in great disfavor, 



WHEN IS CHAELEY COMING HOME? 201 

The rules, of course, we regard with greatest 

pleasure ; 
No ''Young Sport" may expect, no never, 
To catch a (deer) dear at the Northfield School. 

Ebfrain. 

By-and-by comes vacation. 

Home we return to see our dear relation 

Without the expectation 

Of being beset by a red-haired fool. 
Small soft talk affords no pleasure, 
Freedom 's hall we hold in greatest favor ; 
Were we to change our course in a measure 

It will be when free from the Northfield 
School. 

Refrain. 
WHEN IS CHARLEY COMING HOME ? 

This little poem was written for Marion and Chester 
Ballon Fisk, children of the aforesaid * ' Charley, ' ' by 
the author, their grandfather, while he was confined to 
his bed by a severe spell of sickness. 

WHEN evening shadows softly steal, 
And we set us down to our evening 
meal, 
A loneliness we seem to feel 

By every one. 
When our returning thanks we pay 
For His protection through the day 



202 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Some little voice pipes up to say, 
When is papa coming home? 



0, yes, we share the children's woe 
For we miss Charley, alike also. 
And when he is gone a night or two 

It seems quite long. 
His work being on a sliding plan 
For time, it's hard to understand 
But, lets us know whenever he can 

"When he is coming home. 



His heart is one that never quails 
Before obstacles where others fail, 
No matter if he lose some nails 

On a wheel or rack. 
No Satanic prayer did he attempt to spiel, 
Or sign of anger did reveal, 
But, you can not tell the way folks feel 

By the way they act. 

He always brings a ray of cheer 
Which meets the warmest welcome here. 
And little presents oft appear 

By his kindness shown. 
And the children hold it a royal treat 
When the car comes up, to run and meet. 
And walk with papa down the street 

When Charley is coming home. 




"And many blissful years may share and always 
be at home." 



THE HOBBLE SKIRT 203 

But, when a few more years shall come 
And he has finished his work begun, 
And good results from the work he's done 

Are clearly shown, 
Then with his dear ones, he can repair 
To some restful spot, all free from care, 
And many blissful years may share, 

And always be at home. 

This ''Charley" was the Eev. Charles L. Fisk. At 
the time was superintendent of the Congregational Sun- 
day School and Publishing Society, for the district of 
Ohio, which took him away from home much of the 
time, his field consisting of most of four different states. 

THE HOBBLE SKIRT. 

OTHB march of the arts, and the great 
inventions 
That's been introduced in the last hun- 
dred years. 
It surely surpasses all human conception 

The scope of the progress which yearly ap- 
pears. 

All since the days of Benjamin Franklin 
Comes the greatest inventors the world's ever 
seen; 

Whitney and Howe, Morse and Marconi, 
Edison and Wright of the flying machine. 

But, the latest and greatest of modern inventions 
So perfectly fitting each matron and flirt — 



204 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

So wholly absorbing to masculine attention 
And holds them in rapture, is the tight hobble 
skirt. 

On having occasion to go down to the city, 
The cause of my journey, it don't matter 
much, 
Perhaps for my slippers, for solving a riddle, 
Or to get a few post cards, or something like 
such. 

I saw a young lady (about twenty, it may be) 
Passing to the opposite side of the street ; 

On crossing the car track, her skirts being con- 
tracted. 
She stumbled and fell right down in the street. 

She flounced and she floundered like a fish out 

of water, 

And arose to her knees and there could remain, 

But the moment she attempted to get on her 

pedals 

The blooming old hobble would floor her again. 

Then like the spider of Timer the Tartar 
She repeated her efforts again and again 

Till nearly exhausted. God only could help her. 
For near was approaching the fast flying 
train. 



THE HOBBLE SKIRT 205 

From a far-off position I saw the condition ; 
My feelings were stirred to the depth of my 
soul, 
I yelled to the lady, "There's no one can help 
you. 
For God's sake, young lady, just roll, roll, 
roll." 

She quick comprehended and her trouble soon 
ended, 
Just outside the rail, not a moment to spare, 
In less time than it takes one to say ''Jack Rob- 
inson," 
That steaming old engine went whizzing by 
there. 

At a two-forty clip I quickly got to her. 

But she could not arise more than she could 
before. 

I took out my knife and cut the old hobble, 
Politely escorted her to her own door. 

Concerning the hobble, though sometimes a 
trouble, 
A great inconvenience, and often a hurt, 
It's faults are offset by it's wonderful beauty, 
So if you'd be in fashion, just stick to the 
skirt. 



206 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Now come, all you ladies of all sizes and ages, 
By wearing the hobble, of your limbs lose con- 
trol. 
At times when you've fallen, and find you can't 
travel, 
You'll find it convenient to know how to roll. 

THE TRAGEDY OP THE SEA. 

OUR gallant ship was a good three-master 
As ever scud before the breeze, 
No sailing craft was any faster; 
Or trimmed with greater ease. 
Our skipper he was brave, and able. 
The crew were steady, staunch and stable 
As ever shipped an anchor cable 
Or faced the raging, stormy seas. 

Our course lay through the southern waters, 

'Mid palmy isles would often cruise; 
Days and weeks would pass together 

Without a drop of rain or dews. 
And then without a sign to warn us 
The Sun 's bright light would be stricken from us, 
And a raging tornado would burst upon us 
Like all the powers of hell let loose. 

After one such storm, I well remember; 

The exhausted sea must rest a spell. 
The violent winds seemed sunk in slumber, 

And only left but the ocean's swell, 



THE TRAGEDY OF THE SEA 207 

One of the darkest nights was fast approaching, 
A fog came on in vast proportion, 
When to our ears, far o'er the ocean, 
Came the "ding-dong" of a distant bell. 

Whether it be for weal or warning; 

Whether it be from ship or town, 
We dare not go until the morning 

For fear that we might run her down. 
And ever anon, as the sea kept rolling 
That frightful bell kept up it's tolling, 
*' Ding-dong, ding-dong," all night a-going 

Until the coming of the morning dawn. 

It is a fact that's well worth knowing 
By those who sail the stormy seas. 

That oft the waves keep constant flowing 
Long after the furious storm has ceased. 

It seems a habit of old ocean 

Having once been set in motion. 

It often manifests a notion 
Not to stop at once for peace. 

At the morn the fog had lifted. 

Brightly dawned a beautiful day, 
Our compass told us we had drifted 

Many miles out of our way. 
While across the waters stealing 
The notes of that mystic bell kept pealing. 
Plainly to our minds revealing 

Where the source of mystery lay. 



208 ECHOES OP MEMORY 

It was not far from half past ten, 

That is, if I remember right, 
When we drew near to where that bell 

Kept up it's tolling all the night. 
'Twas a well built brig, of the better class. 
Securely anchored and made fast, 
While not a shroud bedecked her mast. 

And not a living soul in sight. 

A boat was lowered, and a rope-ladder 
Was made fast to the vessel's bows; 
An able seaman then ascended 

Whereby to ascertain the cause; 
His head had scarcely reached the flooring 
And paused a moment for exploring 
When a half -starved tiger leaped before him 
And nearly caught him in his claws. 

There was nothing left for him to do 

But to return to our ship again. 
The tiger keeping him in view, 

And lapped his hungry jaws in vain. 
And the ship kept pitching, rolling. 
And that mysterious bell kept up its tolling 
As though some horrid tale unfolding 

Of tragic death, or woe, or pain. 

We drew our bark a little closer 

To get a better view instead; 
The tiger watched with great composure 

While thoughts of a breakfast filled his head. 



THE TRAGEDY OF THE SEA 209 

And with that weird scene before us 
That wretched bell seemed to ignore us, 
The crack of a rifle joined the chorus, 

And that "Royal Bengal" dropped down 
dead. 

With no delay we got a-board 'er ; 

In great disorder was everything, 
Some proposed to search the larder 

And some stripped off the tiger 's skin ; 
A pole was fixed in such position 
With the bell attached, received the motion 
With the rise and falling of the ocean, 

Which caused it's constant, mournful ring. 

But when we to the cabin entered 

A horrid spectacle met our eyes; 
Against the cabin wall suspended 

Were the remnants of two human lives; 
Beneath with blood the floor was stained, 
With bolts and bands each form was chained, 
While nothing but their bones remained. 
Judged male and female, by their size. 

And scattered on the floor, there 

Were bits of garments stained with blood, 

Also two different sorts of hair, 

One long and black, and the other red. 

0, what a death they must have died. 

No power to resist, or even hide, 
14 



210 ECHOES OP MEMORY 

While that tiger's teeth their tissues tried, 
With untold pain they shrieked and bled. 

Above their heads was a sentence written, 

No English scholar could devise, 
But among the crew was a Spanish seaman 

For interpretation was accounted wise. 
So he was summoned then to see 
If that and Spanish would agree, 
Then he translated, ''MAY THIS BE 
THE FATE OP ALL UNFAITHFUL 
WIVES." 

There seemed nothing more for us to do 
But to hoist our sails and thus be gone; 

We knew not the skipper nor the crew, 
Or the place to which the dead belonged. 

But some one knew where that vessel lay, 

And would come for it some future day 

And take the horrid thing away 
And try to cover up their wrong. 

Then away we scud before the wind. 
While the angry sea kept constant rolling, 

And all we took was that tiger's skin 
As our reward for that exploring. 

Though now has passed full many a year 

That sorrowful scene comes vivid, clear. 

And in my sleep I often hear 

The "ding-dong" of that dreadful bell. 



THE DANCE AT SCHROGGYTOWN 211 

THE DANCE AT SCHROGGYTOWN. 

DID you have a chance to hear of the dance 
That was pulled off at Schroggytown ? 
The people there don't seem to care 
Whether the world goes up or down. 
They're up and dressed for every kind 
Of thing that comes along the line, 
If good or bad, they do not mind 
Whatever comes to Schroggytown. 

All holidays are spent in play 

As often as the day comes 'round; 

No Fourth of July ever passes by 
Without some extra sport is' found ; 

Each festal day through the year 

Is always met with rousing cheer. 

Some dance, or play must sure appear 
Upon the boards at Schroggytown. 

One fiddler Chase lived in the place, 

Was better known as "Jack the Clown," 
He could scratch the cat-gut with such grace 

You could hear them squall for rods around. 
Jack had a sweetheart, if you please, 
A rollicking, frolicing lump of grease. 
Who wore her skirts clear to her knees; 
They called her Kuttekatura Brown. 

Now Jack was a man that was in demand 
As often as the time came 'round; 



212 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

He could play and call in kitchen or hall 

Until the very floors broke down. 
One time to satisfy expense 
They passed the hat in consequence, 
And all Jack got was forty cents 

For an all-night's job at Schroggytown. 

Now Jack declared 'twas hardly fair, 
So very far he had come 'round 

And played all night for their delight, 
So small a price would not go down. 

He said he did not wish to compel 

A single soul a shilling to shell, 

But told them all to go to well. 

Some warmer place than Schroggytown. 

The very next time they had a mind 
To have a dance at Schroggytown, 
They hired a fiddler "Lankton Cline," 

But never invited Jack the Clown. 
But when the tidings came to Jack, 
He swore a great big oath, in fact 
He'd break their ball, or break their back 
To square the score at Schroggytown. 

There was a pair residing there. 

Old Uncle and Aunt Eliakim Stone, 

They would always go to dance or show ; 
'Twas where Kuttekatura made her home; 

The night arrived for the great event. 



THE DANCE AT SCHROGGYTOWN 213 

And lots of people to it went. 
But no one thought 'twas Jack's intent, 
But deemed he was too mad to come. 

Well, in came uncle and aunt. 
And in came Kuttekatura Brown, 

In came Fiddler Jack, the scamp. 
And like a fury whaled around. 

Said uncle to Lank, ''Go get me a plank," 

And he took after Fiddler Jack. 

He punched him in the butt and back, 
And severely injured Jack the Clown. 

Of course by now there was an awful row, 
And chairs and things were flying 'round; 

Some in fact stood up for Jack, 

While some cried out to kill the clown. 

Lank's violin laid in a chair; 

Katura grabbed it then and there. 

And struck Lank over the head so square 
It smashed the fiddle and knocked him down. 

With their fiddler hurt and fiddle smashed. 

It left them in a sorry plight. 
So they offered Jack five dollars in cash 

To play for them the rest of the night. 
His violin was brought around, 
A pint of whiskey healed his wound. 
And so he sat and sawed it down 

Till coming of the moruiiJg light. 



214 ECHOES OP MEMORY 

Now every one were satisfied, 

Katura's name was in renown. 
She was the "hero" of the crowd 

Because she'd knocked a fiddler down. 
Jack's fiddler's bill was ample pay, 
And Parson Jones was called that day 
And they were married without delay. 

Thus ended the dance at Schroggytown. 

Some may doubt, and say in fact 
That nothing happened of the kind, 

But a piece of Lank's fiddle is still intact 
And can be seen at any time. 

Jack and Lank soon made amends 

And always remained the best of friends, 

A bouncing boy as the year ends 

Was born, and christened Lankton Cline. 

BATTING THE ''BAT." 

ONE night as I lay sleeping soundly, 
Dreaming of ''Twin Lakes," in a New 
Hampshire town. 
Taking in its walks, and waters around me, 

I was awakened by a curious sound, 
As if some one were stealthily stepping 
With careful tread out in my kitchen. 

Now, I had a dollar and twenty cents 

In my pocketbook, in my Sunday pants; 

The first thing I thought, some industrious chap 



BATTING THE ''BAT" 215 

Was trying to be possessed of that. 

It is not safe to have so much money around 

When beef is bringing thirty cents per pound. 

For that was about all the money I had, 
And part of that must go for bread, 
For that commodity was getting scarce 
Unless the burglar got the money first. 
I felt an awful creeping pain 
Go up my spine, and down again. 

I whispered to wife, close to her ear, 

And asked her "What's that noise we hear?" 

She could not tell what it could be. 

But, recommended that I go out and see. 

I struck a light, resolved to try 

To investigate, to do, or die. 

I thrust my light out towards the intruding 

scamp, 
So before hitting me, he must hit the lamp, 
When lo! a bat (to my surprise) 
Was bumping his head, and catching flies. 
I looked for a towel, an apron or mat, 
By which to do battle by batting the bat. 

I opened the door and showed him to that, 
But, still he appeared to be as blind as a bat. 
My wife came out then to see what I was at, 
With a mop in my hand I was batting that bat. 



216 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

While I was the batter, and he was the ball, 
Scarcely a once could I hit it at all. 

But at the tenth stroke I at last knocked him flat, 
That finished the game of batting the bat. 
We returned to our bed being glad of the chance 
With the dollar and twenty, all safe in my pants. 
But, with those who so much money keep, 
It is not productive of good sleep. 

A VISIT FROM CUPID. 

DARK was the night, the rain fell in tor- 
rents, 
Each bird, beast, and beetle to shelter 
had fled. 
All nature seemed awed at the storm-king's per- 
formance. 
And mortals human were snug in their bed. 

While on my pallet, I vainly sought slumber 
More morbid in spirit than ever before. 

When above the rain's prattle, and the wind at 
my window, 
There came a loud rapping at my cottage door. 

I quickly arose, nor paused to make ready, 
It seemed that the case was of urgent demand, 

I undid the door, and there stood a lady 

With a beautiful boy which she held by the 
hand. 



A VISIT FROM CUPID 217 

"It is not for myself, ' ' the lady responded, 
''That I would seek shelter this dark, stormy 
night, 
But for my little boy, so cold, and half drowned. 
I am Venus, his mother," and vanished from 
sight. 

I was moved with compassion, and brought him 
in quickly. 
No robe decked his form but two beautiful 
wings, 
I warmed him in my bosom from a full sense of 
duty, 
But pity brings often regrettable things. 

But as he came in I saw that the boy 

Had a bow, and an arrow, but did not suspect 

That what appeared only as an innocent toy 
Could have such a burning and lasting effect. 

So when from the cold and wet he'd recovered. 
Then bending his bow, saying, "Miss, I pro- 
pose 
If you don't object to the facts to be gathered 
I will see if the rain has done damage to 
those." 

And before I had time to offer resistance. 
That is to resist, I had words to impart, 
He then bent his bow with child-like persistence. 



218 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

And staight went the arrow to my bleeding 
heart. 

Then cried the boy, exulting but firmly, 
As he replaced his arrow beside of his bow, 

"Such is the fate of all who befriend me, 
Such are my victims wherever I go." 

OLD AGE. 

OLD Age, I see you are coming now, 
I see the wrinkles on my brow. 
My hair grows white as winter's snow; 
Once black has been. 
My weary limbs are loath to go. 
And full of pain. 

Dim grows the light my eyes command, 

My ears are slow to understand. 

And the fires of love, by passion fanned 

Now slumbering lay, 
E'en the thrill of the touch of a ladies' hand, 

Has gone away. 

Once all the joys of earth were mine. 

Enough so, I need not repine 

Love's warm caress, love's greeting time 

Forever o'er. 
Like all the rest, they have gone "lang syne'* 

To return no more. 



OLD AGE 219 

Then everything was bright to me, 
I gave no thought, what age might be. 
Like as a bird, joyous and free 

Or sportive child, 
But, now too well the end I see, 

In a little while. 

But, will it make my fate less sore 
To set me down and brood it o'er. 
Or, will it give me one day more 

To so repine? 
Better count the blessings still in store 

That yet are mine. 

My food tastes good, all that I eat. 
And pleasant are my dreams in sleep 
Of the many friends I used to greet 

In days of pride. 
Many have crossed the stormy deep 

To the other side. 

And if by strength, we should arrive 

To eighty, or to eighty-five, 

The wheel of time will onward drive, 

No turning back; 
For the others' use who still survive 

We must give the track. 

Yet, many things are dear to me. 
My children of the second degree. 



220 ECHOES OF MEMORY 

Who come and sit upon my knee 

For a story told, 
Makes me forget, the while may be, 

I'm growing old. 

Youth like the flowers, goes all too fast, 
But, memory holds them to the last, 
When we set down, and recount the past, 

Much joy we find, 
Tho' the clouds of age our sky o'ercasts 

We must be resigned. 

Of many friends I've been possessed 
And once in a while, a foe I guess; 
And many lips my own have pressed 

Are cold in clay, 
When comes the time I too must rest 

"Good-by, life's day." 

When I was young 'twas often said 
I was in love with many a maid. 
Some truth maybe, I am afraid, 

For when they die, 
Many a visit I have paid 

To where they lie. 

I know not the place where one is sleeping 
In that repose that knows no waking, 
One who in youth my heart was keeping, 
Death called away. 



OLD AGE 221 



But, something to my heart seems speaking, 
She's with me to-day. 



When called away from this world of care, 
And by luck I "climb the golden stair," 
I will be looking everywhere 

One face to see; 
If I find not bonny Anna there. 

It's no place for me. 



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